#And why did I make a drawing of Dice and not just any of the other cool stuff that already happened with the equally fucked up nature and

[triple-pupil]

"...Without me are nothing more than a rat from the gutter. Something only worth killing, as a mercy to its existence."

"Now you, my love, can either help me with this task or leave and return to the gutter where you belong. Your choice. Either way, I have work to do."

Hi, hello, just started reading The Strength and The Sight by @inkwell-intrigues and I declare myself as deceased, I am now deeply scared and hyped for what's to come, even though I'm barely on part 6 and nothing really happened yet.

Now a tiny little rant on one of my favorite aspects: The Devil himself.

Because HOLY FUCKING SHIT, MY GOD, WTF-

This is one of the most fascinating, mysterious and scariest versions of the Cuphead Devil that I've ever seen because he's so manipulative and adaptive yo who he interacts with and the reasons behind the interaction. I really can't tell when he's honest or not except the one line of his "rare genuine smile" to King Dice and the rest I don't know.

And just the worldbuilding is already so complex and interesting and I just want to see more of everything.

I'm just so scared and intrigued for what Will happen next, holy shit, I'm already destroyed and nothing happened yet (Except poor Elder Kettle)

#And why did I make a drawing of Dice and not just any of the other cool stuff that already happened with the equally fucked up nature and #deep psychology of the characters? #Idk man- I'm a Devildice fan #I had to hyperfixate on the little of it there is here- Even this very toxic fucked up version that I already love to suffer through #But it's not central to the story- It's just one more facet of Devil being a heartless fuck and I'm happy with that #I'm staying for the rest of the story #cuphead #cuphead au #other's au #the strength and the sight (inkwell intrigues) #I'm scared #reblog #My shit #And also I drew Dice because his reaction to what the Devil says isn't described so- ✨Creative freedom✨ #tw swearing #swearing in tags

[stellar-skyy]

hello!! could i order an iced honey and vanilla tea for aventurine?

“order up! i have a drink here for aventurine, an iced honey and vanilla tea!”

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: sometimes, all you need is to feel loved. and, as his closest friend, he will make sure you know you are. ii. CWS & NOTES: reader is insecure. platonic aventurine x gn!reader. hurt/comfort & fluff. 0.8k words. iii. A/N: i was so excited to see someone rq the platonic version of this prompt! also. please know this is my first time writing aventurine and i haven't played most of the penacony questline (i have been spoiled for the entire thing though-) so if the characterization is off i am sorry.

“Why are you friends with me?”

It caught Aventurine off guard, truth be told. For a moment he could only blink, staring at them dumbly while the question fully registered in his head. After a few seconds of processing, he managed a single word: “What?”

“Why are you friends with me?” They repeated, a tinge of frustration coating their words. The question settled in his mind, but still, he was at a loss for words.

How could he possibly answer that, when the two of them had been acquainted for so long that his life and theirs seemed fully intertwined? The question only planted the seed for more to sprout in his mind as he pondered it; whys melting into hows and what ifs. He struggled to imagine a life where he’d never met them all those years ago, a life where he never found someone to dull his sharpened edges and fill some fraction of the emptiness he felt inside.

They were a match that fit too perfectly; two lonely people, who’d tasted a life without solitude and couldn’t quite bring themselves to leave it behind again.

Yet, their friendship was a double-edged sword, one seemed to cut Aventurine from both sides. It took every ounce of self-control in his body to stop himself from digging his claws in and clinging tightly enough to them to make sure they wouldn’t leave. Simultaneously, another part yearned to push them so far away that he would never be able break them like he did with every other bright thing in his life. The thought of being alone again felt suffocating, even if the back of his mind still whispered that it was only his deserved fate.

On good nights, when they were at the tables with him, he insisted they were seated right beside him—his “good luck charm,” as he put it. He chased every moment, the flash of a smile on their lips when the dice roll just right, a barely stifled laugh at his jokes. No victory could outshine the few moments of pure, untainted contentment he felt when they were by his side.

It was almost laughable that they were questioning why he’d chosen them, when he was the one who didn’t deserve someone half as incredible as they were. He should be asking why they had settled for someone cracked and missing as many pieces as he did, not the other way around.

“What about you?” He asked, in lieu of an answer. “Why are you friends with me?”

“I already asked you.” They protested. Aventurine, being the good friend he was, ignored them.

“You’ve known me long enough to be acutely aware of my flaws, and yet you still stick around. Why is that?”

“Uh…” They hesitated for a beat. “You’re not—”

“Don’t deny it. Just answer the question.”

“Well, I guess…” They draw out the first few words, thinking. Aventurine kept his face neutral, despite the pounding of his heart. “Flaws are just flaws, aren’t they? I don’t think you could find a single one here that’s without their fair share. You’re still a good person despite them, and I enjoy your company regardless.”

The back of his throat had grown dry. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to quell the wave of emotions that almost swept him off his feet, forcing them back into the furthest reaches of his mind to unpack later.

“See!” He said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Exactly my point, why would you be any different?”

“That’s not what I was saying.” They murmured, shaking their head.

“What is it then?”

“It’s just… I’m not that important, am I?” They asked, not meeting his eyes. “I mean—You have other friends, don’t you? And if you had the choice, I’m sure you’d rather hang out with them than me, wouldn’t you?”

“You want to make that a bet?” Aventurine raised an eyebrow. “Because, my dear friend, that is a gamble you will lose. For starters, who I find important isn’t up to you; it’s up to me. And me has decided you are an incredibly important friend that I value very deeply. You can stew in your self-pity as much as you want, but that won’t change how much I care about you.”

“You really mean that?” They asked, in an almost inaudible whisper.

“Of course. Can I?” He asked, opening his arms out. They looked up briefly, and gave him a small nod, so he pulled them forward against his chest. He hugged them tightly, as if they would vanish into nothing if he let go. Their hand clutched the back of his jacket, their cheek pressing against his shirt.

Neither of them were without their cracks, it seemed, but maybe that was why they had connected in the first place.

“I’m friends with you because I want to be friends with you,” Aventurine said softly. “You mean the world to me, and it kills me that you don’t realize it.”

He knew he was little more than a hollow shell, but with them, he almost felt whole. It was almost enough for him; he could only hope it would be enough for them too.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

#✒️ — writing #ty mhie for beta reading this! #[ interstellar teashop ☆ﾟ. ] #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #—stellaronhvnters. #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #platonic hsr x reader #platonic honkai star rail x reader #platonic aventurine x reader

[bettysupremacy]

Eddie Munson x Henderson! reader Pt. 2

Summary: Eddie’s been waiting all day just to see Dustin’s sister again and now hellfire has run 30 minutes late.

Warnings: fem! Reader, cursing, fluff, broken walkmans, Dustin’s dead cat is mentioned, two idiots in love, no spoilers

A/N: here’s a part two for everyone who’s been patiently waiting. I didn’t realize y’all would like the first one so much😭 much love.

2.3k words

They’re running half an hour late. Eddie swears he’s tried to wrap up this campaign for the entirety of that half hour, but it’s gotten him nowhere.

“I think that’s a perfect place to leave off.” turned into “guys, we’re running late. No, I’m not late for anything. I’m just a very on schedule man, okay?” turned into “This is where we leave off! I refuse to DM any later then this very late hour of 6:30pm. Clean up your messes. Yes Gareth, I know where we’ve left off, thank you.”

So, much to the boys dismay, they clean up their messes and shove papers and dice into their binders. Not without Dustin grumbling about how they usually play well into 8 o’clock. His sister can wait another half hour. Come on!

They’re still shuffling to get everything picked up and put away when they hear a soft knocking at the door. Eddie flinches out of his skin. Gareth, who’s right next to him, looks at him startled. Who is that? There’s no one else it could be but her, all the teachers are gone and the janitor left 15 minutes ago. Oh my god, the room is still a mess. What is he going to do? His thoughts are cut off by Mike quickly opening the door-

Jesus Christ it’s just Jeff. Eddie completely forgot that he left to use the bathroom 5 minutes ago. He lets out a big breath of air in relief, slumping forward to grab the chair In front of him, and closing his eyes that are now hidden by his messy hair. He’s gotta fix that before he sees her.

Everyone’s staring at Eddie, and Jeff is paused in the doorway, hesitant to walk into the room after such a reaction from his dungeon master. What did he do?

“What.. what did I do?”

“Nothing Jeff,” Eddie waves him into the room, “we’re just cleaning up, cmon.”

He walks into the room, but not without looking at each of his party members confusedly. His gaze sticks a little longer on Gareth who’s now on the verge of tears from laughing at Eddie. Can someone tell him what’s going on?

“Did you think that was her?” Gareth manages to gasp out, he’s weak in his seat holding his stomach and wiping tears away from his lash line. His mind keeps replaying the way Eddie flinched at the thought of her seeing the room in this.. state.

Eddie promptly ignores him. He can’t get worked up right now. He’s gotta play it cool for her and he can’t do that if he’s worked up over his own party teasing him.

At the way Eddie ignores his question, Gareth is sucked into a new laughing fit so hard he fears he might start gagging. Jeff puts his hand on Gareth’s back, slowly rubbing up and down, hoping that the giggles will stop. He thinks it’s kinda.. cute.. of Eddie to be so head over heals for a girl.

“Yeah, yeah, so funny.” Eddie draws out “We’ll see who’s laughing when I’m the only one in this room with a girlfriend.”

“But.. me and Mike have girlfriends?” Dustin’s confusion has taken him so far aback, he hasn’t even realized that Eddie just said his sister was going to be his girlfriend.

That makes Eddie smile down at his DM folder he’s neatly packing up. Why does that make him smile? “Oh yeah, sure.” He lifts his eyes to Dustin’s “Except mine won’t conveniently live in another state, making it impossible for their friends to meet them.”

“Her name is Suzie, and she lives in Utah!”

“And shes hotter then Phoebe Cates?” Eddie’s hand is on his hip now.

“Yes! And she’s like really smart. She can hack into-”

Eddie shakes his head in amusement “Hey, can’t be hotter then your sister.”

Dustin gapes at him. What did Eddie just say? Mike has both hands over his mouth desperately trying not to laugh.

“You know what?” Dustin turns on his heel offended, and walks out the club door, not even waiting for Mike to catch up.

“Shit,” Eddie scrambles for his stuff. Before he leaves the room he runs his hands trough his hair, using a prop mirror to push his bangs into place, and smooths down his shirt. He will not have a remake of lunch.

He’s practically tripping over his feet to keep up with Dustin, who’s setting an imposible pace trying lose Eddie. He’s yelling apologies through the hall “I was joking! Kid! It as a joke, im sorry!” He doesn’t sound sorry though, he sounds like he’s about to bust out laughing.

When they push through those large high school doors, she’s the only in the big empty parking lot. She’s sitting on the hood of her car messing with something in her hands, while Sweet Leaf plays loudly in her car. Sweet Leaf. My God, he’s in love.

She hears the doors open and snaps her head up like she’s been expectantly waiting for something. Or someone.

She’s not wearing her cheer uniform anymore, just a large Back to The Future tee shirt Robin bought her and Steve as an inside joke (she’s been using it as a sleep shirt, but she was in a rush to get to Dustin), and denim shorts. Her hair looks like it’s in the process of drying. Did she take a shower? Also why does he suddenly have the urge to see her in his own shirt?

The “Dusty!” she yells out is wobbly like she’s holding something in, and he can hear the upset laced through it. He thinks he must’ve heard her wrong. That is until he sees her watery eyes and furrowed brows, and realizes he didn’t at all.

Dustin immediately thinks the worst, rushing over to her. They didn’t kill all the demodogs? Russians are back in Hawkins? No it’s not that, she’s handing him something. What is she handing him? Her.. walkman?

Even though she scared the shit out of him, he try’s not to get upset with her. Her Walkman was a gift from Steve and she treats it like it’s the most precious thing in the world, she’s never let him touch it either. Is it broken?

“You scared the shit outta me.” He breathes out, winded from running through the parking lot.

She looks genuinely sorry. “I’m sorry dusty,” She’s had that tight feeling in her throat since 5:30 when she got out the shower and saw her mothers cat treating her most beloved Walkman like a cat toy. The talking gives into her tight throat and she lets out a quiet sob. Oh, Eddie’s heart just broke a little. She sticks her Walkman in Dustin’s hands, “look.”

“Why are you handing me this?”

“Click play.”

“Oh.”

Her Walkman won’t play when he clicks the button.

“And! My Master of Reality cassette is stuck in there!”

Dustin frowns, “You love that cassette.”

“It’s my favorite one!” She sobs, dropping her head into her hands. She doesn’t fight the crying anymore. Only, she’s being so quiet that the only reason Eddie can tell she’s crying is because of how hard her shoulders are shaking. He wants to hug her so bad. So bad.

Dustin fiddles with it for a moment, bringing it up to his eye to look at it closer, before looking up at her and asking “what happened?”

She treats this thing like gold, she couldn’t have been the one to do this.

“Tews, that stupid fucker. I came into my room and he was tossing it around like it was a play toy. I thought maybe you could fix it”

Dustin’s just trying to distract her enough to quiet her sobs, he really doesn’t know if he can fix this, but worst case scenario he’d ask Steve if he would buy her a new one. And he would! Matter of fact, if Steve knew that this one was broken right now he’d insist on buying her a new one instead of Dustin fixing it himself.

“I hate that new cat,” another choked sob “I miss mews so much” now Dustin doesn’t know if she’s still crying about her Walkman or if she’s accidentally made herself start crying over their dead cat. That poor mangled cat.

Eddie thinks he hears her whisper out “so mangled” and wonders what the hell happened to their last cat. I mean mangled?

“I know, I know” he’s still fiddling with it. She looks like she wants to object when he starts softly hitting it, but she doesn’t.

“I liked Dart more than I like Tews. Dart’s face opens up, he’s a carnivore, and Tews is somehow still meaner!” She sniffles a little while Dustin nods, too engrossed with trying to see what’s wrong with the Walkman. “What was the candy you gave Dart down there??” down where? Eddie’s so confused. “Was it a.. Nougat?” Dustin nods again.

“Nougat! I’m gonna go back down there with a Nougat and bribe dart to come back up and kill Tews the way he killed Mews”

What? Okay. Now they’ve really lost Eddie. He looks over at Mike, expecting his confusion to be mirrored on the younger boys face. Why does Mike look like he understands what they’re talking about? What the hell?

Dustin let’s out a strangled laugh like he’s startled and pats her knee, “I think I’ll be able to fix it.”

She gasps, wiping the tears off her face harshly, “really?”

Dustin nods, “I might even be able to save Master of Reality.”

She hops of the car quickly and throws her arms around him ecstatic. Eddie hears a quiet chant of thank you’s. He could laugh at how quickly her mood changed. Like a mood ring in a warm fist he thinks. When she pulls away she remembers her promise of dinner and says “you guys are getting extra fries tonight.”

The excitement that bursts from the two youngest boys has her in wet laughs. She turns to Eddie and swears she has a heart attack when she realizes that he’s there too. When did he get there? Did he see her crying? Oh Christ she’s mortified.

“You can come too, if you want I mean. You don’t have to come if you don’t want-“

The boys excitement dies down quickly. Well, Dustin’s does. Mike still has a grin on his face. Before Dustin can object, Eddie rushes out “I want to come! I’ll come, if you want me to?”

“I want you to come.. if you want to come.”

A loud laugh bubbles out of him, startling her into a nervous laugh. They’re just repeating the same thing over and over. “Yeah, I want to come. But my car-“ he points behind him dramatically, smiling at her “is alllll the way back there. Do you wanna meet there?”

Her words mix and muddle with Dustin’s, as he says “no” and she says “yes” at the same time, but he wasn’t listening to Dustin. He was listening to her.

“Ok! Cool! So I’ll just-“ he makes to walk towards his car.

“We haven’t told you where we are eating yet?”

“Oh-“ he laughs a little, looking away to cover up his bright cheeks, just in case the dark of this cold fall night doesn’t. That’s actually a really good excuse. His face is just really.. really cold right now? Jesus Christ. “What- where are we gonna eat?”

She turns and gives an expectant look to where her brother just was, but he’s.. gone? She spins a full 360 looking for him and quickly realizes that he’s sitting in the dark car with Mike. He just really couldn’t stand to watch them stumble around each other any longer.

She lets out a breath of a laugh, and Eddie can see it in the cold air. “Jesus. he’s- he’s something.”

She walks up to the window and crouches so she can motion for him to roll the window down. When he does he looks severely unimpressed, arms crossed and looking cross himself. “What d’you and Mike want for dinner, Spock?”

He rolls his eyes at her teasing and says “You seem very in the mood for Enzo’s”

“Har har, very funny. What do you want for dinner Mike?”

“The diner on curly?”

“Perfect, thank you.”

She gets up and walks back to Eddie, feeling more prepared. “We’re gonna go to the diner on curly, do you know where that is?”

He nods, “I’ll see you there, pretty”

He didn’t mean to say that. He really didn’t mean to say that. Oh my god. What’s wrong with him? It wasn’t him being smooth, it was him having no filter! I need to buy a filter he thinks.

Meanwhile, her heart soars. He thinks I’m pretty?? She smiles so hard, so quickly, she turns her entire head away to look behind her.

He was hurriedly looking for any emotion he could find on her face, but when he sees her look away to hide that ever growing smile, he feels sweet relief. Suddenly he’s bursting with pride. Maybe he is smooth.

He’s smiling wide when she turns her head back to look at him, and she feels she needs to look away again just to escape his pretty smile.

“Yeah, I’ll see you there, Eddie.” She can’t even say it to his face, his attractiveness is blinding her.

He watches her quickly turn towards her car and climb in, before turning towards his own car himself. The smile never leaves his face.

He really needs to ask that girl out on a proper date.

Who wants a pt 3?

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#eddie munson blurb #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson x reader fluff #stranger things x reader #fluff #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 (𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

( dialogue prompts taken from episodes 1 & 2 ( "romance dawn" & "the man in the straw hat" ) of the netflix live action one piece series. feel free to edit and change as you seem fit. )

❛ do you have any last words? ❜

❛ the sea's been calling. well, not exactly calling, because i pretty much can't swim, but you get the idea. ❜

❛ so what do you say? are you with me? ❜

❛ liar! i know zoro must be after me. who else is worthy of his pursuit? ❜

❛ who's the most powerful pirate on the seas? ❜

❛ first things first. do you have any food here? ❜

❛ you don't look like a pirate. ❜

❛ i'm not afraid of getting hurt. and i'll prove it to you. ❜

❛ i don't get it. why would anyone want to be a pirate? ❜

❛ you have the wind on your back, the salty sea air, your loyal crew by your side. you never know what's on the horizon. it's all about being... free. ❜

❛ you should never let anyone tell you what you can't do. ❜

❛ well, remember the name, 'cause i'm gonna be king of the pirates. ❜

❛ people often visit shrines to light candles for those they've lost. who are yours for? ❜

❛ you've been following me for three days. what do you want? ❜

❛ look, i've been practicing what my face is gonna look like on my wanted poster.❜

❛ i've no doubt your mug will be on a wanted poster one day. ❜

❛ all he did was spill a drink on me. ❜

❛ you should've fought back! why didn't you kick his ass? ❜

❛ not everything can be solved with violence. a man needs to be strong, but he also needs to be good. ❜

❛ you're not a real man. you're nothing but a coward. ❜

❛ you ate a devil fruit? ❜

❛ ever since i was a kid, i wanted to protect people that can't protect themselves.❜

❛ if that's what you want, i think you should do it. i'll help you out. ❜

❛ my crew was attacked by pirates. i barely managed to make it out alive. ❜

❛ rice balls. for you. ❜

❛ you shouldn't draw your blade unless you're prepared to use it. ❜

❛ don't kill me, please. my father will give you anything you want. ❜

❛ i'd say you live up to your reputation. ❜

❛ what's up with the third sword? i mean, where does it even go? ❜

❛ what do you say, puppy? do you want to do a trick for me? sit up and beg. ❜

❛ i kill your kind for a living. ❜

❛ i mean it. i don't owe you anything. ❜

❛ you are going to get us both caught if you keep stomping around this place. ❜

❛ that was amazing. admit it. we do make a pretty good team. ❜

❛ so why did you decide to become a thief? ❜

❛ i needed to eat. you do what you have to, to survive. ❜

❛ you're right. nothing is more important than food. ❜

❛ all great fighters call out their finishing moves. ❜

❛ i don't work for you. ❜

❛ i'm sensing a little bit of tension amongst the crew. ❜

❛ before we met, every choice was made for me. but now i'm gonna do what i want to do. ❜

❛ next time we meet, we might be enemies. but for now... we're friends. ❜

❛ i'm feeling so... so piratey. ❜

❛ well, you're gonna end up feeling watery if i have to throw you overboard. i told you i need absolute silence. ❜

❛ don't mess with my hat. ❜

❛ oh, i'm sorry. were we interrupting your beauty sleep? ❜

❛ don't like what you see? look away. ❜

❛ you have a lot of names. i bet everyone in the east blue knows who you are. ❜

❛ are you making fun of my nose? ❜

❛ i know your type. if there's nothing to gain, you're out. ❜

❛ truthfully? i'm kind of hungry. ❜

❛ who are you trying to impress? a lost love? an absent parent? or was it someone that you worshipped? ❜

❛ i used to know a pirate that wore a hat just like this. ❜

❛ for a time, i even thought we were friends. until he betrayed me. just like all the others. ❜

❛ he wanted to keep me out of the spotlight! he wanted to keep my star from shining too brightly! ❜

❛ is that what he did to you? did he betray you, too? ❜

❛ you can slice me and you can dice me, but i'll always put myself back together again. ❜

❛ i've been thinking about you for years. ❜

❛ i know you're upset, but you should eat something. ❜

❛ you're never not hungry. what's going on? ❜

❛ you can spill a drink on me and i'll let it slide, but don't you ever threaten my friends. ❜

❛ you can't make people love you. just like you can't make them smile. ❜

❛ you really think anyone is coming for you? they don't care. and no one is gonna miss you when you're dead. ❜

❛ get lost. ❜

❛ i'm just glad that you're okay. ❜

❛ what was that? i couldn't hear you over all the drowning. ❜

❛ you really don't fear death, do you? ❜

❛ what's the plan? you do have a plan, right? that's your thing, plans. ❜

❛ you want out? you know the price you have to pay. ❜

❛ you want a piece of me? let's see what you got. ❜

❛ i think i'll miss you most of all. ❜

❛ we're gonna be the greatest pirates the world has ever seen. even greater than your crew. ❜

❛ this hat is the most precious thing i own. it means the world to me. and i want you to take it. ❜

❛ when we meet again, you can give it back to me. ❜

❛ is every day gonna be this crazy with you? ❜

❛ if the path to what you want seems too easy, then you're on the wrong path. ❜

#one piece #opla #sentence starters #roleplay memes #roleplay starters #rp memes #inbox memes #rp starters #dialogue prompts #ask memes #tv

[andkisses]

♡ just about anything | jay ♡

late nights, when really, both of you should have been asleep a long time ago, but who knew this game of monopoly would last so long?

♡ jay x gn!reader | wc. 1.5k ♡ genres/tropes: domestic, competitive couple that won’t quit, staying up way too late ♡ mentions of/warnings: pet names, food, lmk if there’s anything else! <3 ♡ a/n: a repost and revamp of one of my very first writings from YEARS ago </3 (from that blog i accidentally deleted <///333) 

♡ masterlist ♡

With the rest of the lights in the apartment off, the lone one above the kitchen table casts a warm glow into the darkness. The light illuminates the board, littered with green houses, red hotels, and Cheez-Its—you ran out of hotels about an hour ago (but who’s to say?) and needed something to represent a double-hotel on the board. There’s a notebook on the table that keeps getting passed back and forth, covered in numbers and tallies in two different handwritings. It’s currently functioning as a paper bank account, since the game has escalated far beyond the cash given  in a standard Monopoly box.

Your eyes are tired, nearly burning with ache; it’s been too long, and it’s very much past your bedtime. But the both of you are stubborn, and horrifically competitive–especially when it’s just the two of you. He seems just as drained, eyes dropping and his head propped up on a closed fist. The loose hoodie slides down his arm, pooling around the elbow, and he uses the sleeve of the other to wipe at his eyes. Just seeing him sleepy makes you sleepy, and your head is bobbing up and down. It would be so much better to be curled up in his arms right now. The game is one of chance at this point, all up to the dice roll. The only safe spots on the board are your own; everything else is meaningless to you. You know you want to land on your properties and not his, for those Cheez-Its are threatening and—

“Did you just eat some of the board?” you ask, the dice still caught between your hands. 

Jay looks up at you and blinks slowly, still chewing on the stolen Cheez-It. He swallows and takes a sip of his nearly empty glass of water before answering. “No.”

You shake your head, tilting it to one side. “No what?”

“No, I didn’t eat the board. I took it from the bowl, like a civilized person.” He points with his free hand lazily at the blue plastic bowl the Cheez-Its had been poured into when the demand for new hotels had arisen. How long ago had that been? Half an hour? An hour? Hours, plural? You couldn’t tell anymore. This game felt decades long yet you know you started it today. Or, was it really yesterday?

You reach forward and draw the bowl towards you, eliciting a tired pout from your boyfriend. “Well, you shouldn’t eat these either. We may need them.”

“And how could we do that, love?" Jay reaches to pick up the notebook and it flaps under its own weight as he lifts it into the air. “We’d need more money to upgrade any house or non-Cheez-It hotels, and we’ve already borrowed from an imaginary bank three times. Inflation is running rampant throughout this town. We’ve ruined the economy. We’re monsters.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jay shrugs, placing the paper bank back on the table before sniffling and wiping at his eyes again, this time with both hands. The ball cap he wears now sits askew on his head, and you, out of habit, reach forward to fix it, leaning against the table to help span the distance. Your fingers brush against the edge of the board, and the more you lean to reach across the table, the more you end up on top of the board. You’re out of your seat now, feet pressing on toes to get the height and length you need to reach to fix the hat.

And before you know it, you’re face to face and practically on the table. Jay leans forward and bumps his nose against yours while you adjust his hat. “We should stop,” he says plainly.

“Why? So you can win?” you mutter, half grumbling. One hand fixes his hat while the other acts as a brace against the table.

“No, so we can stop,” he says again, one hand reaching to rub simple patterns into the top of your hand. “The Cheez-Its will still be there in the morning. If we need it, Jake can bring his copy so we can have more actual cash to use.”

A quick hah escapes your lips. “You just want to win.”

“No, love, I just want to sleep.”

With his hat now fixed, you carefully lean back, peeling yourself off the table and into your seat. You’re silently thankful for the still intact Cheez-Its. Had they been crushed, you’re sure you’d given up, now feeling more tired than you were before your hat-fixing expedition—and that was already fairly tired. You’re about to refute his case, saying that the two of you should stick it out until the end, that surely it can’t be too much longer, when Jay takes his hat off—the one you so painfully just fixed—to run his hand through his hair before putting it back on, slightly crooked.

“Jay... I just... fixed... that.” You bite your lip, too tired to be angry out right but too tired to realize it also doesn’t matter.

“I know you did,” he replies, yawning into his sleeve. He begs again, a hint of desperation growing into his voice. “Can we please stop?”

You lean forward, resting your chin on the edge of the table and staring up at him from across the board. “Does this mean I win?”

“If you want to, love,” he says, scooting away from the table to stand, silently hoping his movement away from the game will pull you away as well. “If it means we can stop.”

A smile graces your lips as he walks around the table to your side. You take the hand he offers to help you up, holding tight. You pull his arm toward you, hugging it as you both shuffle forward into the darkness, the Monopoly board abandoned. “Thank you,” you say, stretching to place a kiss on his cheek.

“If it makes you happy, love,” Jay begins, his voice soft and tired, “I’d do just about anything.”

“Just about?” you tease, crawling up onto the bed and beneath the covers. “Meaning there’s things you wouldn’t do, hm?”

“Yes, just about,” he replies, mimicking your actions. Even half asleep, he still makes sure you’re tucked safely against his side, with his arm curled around your waist and your head resting on his chest. You hear his heartbeat, smooth and steady.  You wrap your arms around his own waist, a soft smile against your lips.

He continues, murmuring sleepily into your hair after a kiss to your temple. “Just about, because if you had asked me to continue playing with you I would have fallen asleep at that table.”

“And what’s so bad about that?” you whisper back, titling your head up to see him. Moonlight streams around the edge of your curtains, providing just enough light to see.

“I really wasn’t looking forward to waking up with Cheez-Its ingrained into my forehead,” he replies with a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t think the look’s for me.”

You laugh, snuggling in closer against his hoodie, and he laughs too. “I think you would have looked great,” you say against his collarbone, eyes finally lulling shut.

“Do you now, love?”

“Yeah, orange is really your color.”

You feel his arm leave your waist and a single finger place itself beneath your chin. You allow Jay to tilt your head up before you open your eyes. He levels you a stare long enough for you to think you’ve done something seriously wrong before a laugh makes its way out, and before you know it, he’s placing happy, smiley kisses across your cheeks, your nose. He stops before your lips. His eyes, even tired, are still starry and glittering. His voice has reverence when he speaks. “You know I love you with every fiber of my being, right?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

Jay bumps into your nose, hand playfully squeezing back at your waist. “That’s where you’re supposed to say I love you, too.”

You shake your head, fake-frowning. “But you haven’t kissed me yet?”

“Is that a suggestion or a demand?” he asks.

You shrug. “You choose.”

He leans forward, giving you the slightest, softest peck before pulling back.

You pout, chin tilting down. “You call that a kiss?”

“No,” he laughs, kissing the side of your cheek right beside your lips. “I just love your pout. I love everything about you.”

As he kisses the other cheek, just as close to your lips, you sigh. “I love you, too, Jay.”

And this time, he really does kiss you, although chaste and sleepy, but an honest kiss regardless. He tucks you back under his chin, wraps his arms around you so he knows you're safe. You’re nearly asleep when he finally replies, his own voice laced with sleep, and it’s enough to make you smile. Enough to know that he really would do just about anything for you. It makes you wrap your around him just a little tighter, make you smile just a little wider.

“I love you too.” That’s what you’d said. He says, in the darkness and honesty of your room, “I know.”

#kdiarynet #kwritersworld #kflixnet #k-labels #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #jay fluff #jay headcanons #jay scenarios #jay imagines #fluff #scenarios #imagines #all #prose #enhypen

[hoeforhao]

babbyyyyy HONEYYY when are we getting flip sip strip?

it's here finally lord😭every month I used to get a ask regarding when will flip,sip or strip come out and I felt so guilty for pushing down such a good plot to the basements but yeah!!! FINALLY!

Flip, Sip or Strip🎲 // Wonhui Fic // Part 1

ᥫ᭡ pairing: sub!wonwoo×fem!reader×dom!junhui

ᥫ᭡ genre: smut with barely any plot,minors dni, threesome,college au, bestfriends to bedfriends, sexual games

ᥫ᭡tags: rough sex, double penetration,oral(both m and f receiving),pussy slapping,breast play, use of pet names,degradation kink,orgasm denial, use of explicit language.

ᥫ᭡synopsis: what happens when you are ganged up by your bestfriends to play a game of pleasures.

ᥫ᭡part: 1/2

ᥫ᭡word count: 1.4k+

ᥫ᭡banner credits: @classicscreations

ᥫ᭡authors note: ik ik this was supposed to be a oneshot and I started writing today with that aim only but got disturbed so many times that I lost the flow, and in no way I wanted this fic to come out rushed and without the tension building up, so I'll release the rest with another part. But this part can also be read as a stand alone. Hope y'all will enjoy!!!

Permanent taglist: @joonsytip @feat-sun , also tagging @junhour cuz ik you'll enjoy this ☻️

Fic taglist: @tommolex @tara-drabbles @meowmeowminnie @chwenott @mewheree @freshdetectivenight @ffumatthew

If y'all wanna be added to the taglist of part 2 or the permanent taglist, then just drop a comment under this. thank you☆

"Yah Jun that's sheer daylight cheating boy" your cushiony hands land a hard smack onto the oldest's upper thighs, making him let out a sharp gasp, mostly from the fear of letting you see the growing tent in his trousers.

"If that means discarding one more piece of clothing down that velvety skin of yours, then I'm ready to beat jeonghan hyung's records" Junhui blurts out with absolutely no shame or filter, resulting in your cheek muscles tensing up to flush a subtle pink.

Yes you three were playing this weird game that Jun himself suggested with his obvious intentions that were unknown to the rest two of you, till now!! For you what seemed to be an innocent, maybe a little spicy game, to draw the boredom out of you, wonwoo and jun from not having dates to go to senior prom, now had you sitting infront of these two men in just your pants and lacey purple bra.

Not that you minded being half naked before your best friends though, as being single for more than 10 months have now elevated your libido to the very edge. Apart from that, Jun was incredibly hot and flirty to not have your legs slump whenever he had his hands on you or even his mere words were enough to have you sweating down your core.

What you did not know or anticipate was the second older's burning lusty eyes towards your nearly bare torso, digging wells into that cloth that was guarding your enchanting assests from him. "Are you two done with the bickerings? Let's finish this quick pls"

"Why Jeon? So that you can go play that goddamn games of yours? Or are you...." Jun shifts his gaze from you onto wonwoo, resting his palms on the younger's thighs, giving him a teasing look with the hope to ignite the self controlling hold he has been trying to put onto his desires.

Wonwoo immediately shys away, trying to hide the red creeping up onto his face and following the feeling down to his pants, pushing off Jun's hands in the process. "Or w-what?"

"Or are you scared to show y/n how hard you are from just watching her strip down her top, hmm?" Jun moves his palms to wonwoo's lap once again, drawing light circles on his upper thighs, dangerously close to the strain in his pants, while his eyes fall on you whose mouth was quite literally left hanging open after hearing the older's shameless blabberings.

"Rest those muscles of yours baby, they would need to work a lot later" and with that Jun rolls the dice once again! Lord looks like all the heavens were against your sanity today, as the result flipped out to your defeat, for the third time in a row, and you very well knew what that meant - losing the very last piece of deceny left on your body.

Looking up at Jun with those doe eyes of yours, hands playing with the waistband of your jeans, hope aflame in yours eyes that he would ask you not to provide a free strip show for them anymore.....but alas! The only thing you receive is a nod from him directing you to pull those pants down your legs right now.

"Fuck you Jun! I'm sure you fixed the game just to tease me!!"

"You will soon babygirl, don't worry. But just not only me" he finally gets up from the floor, pulling along wonwoo by his shoulders, while turning towards you to see you now standing up by yourself to get those jeans off of your body. Your eyes were too focused on the material of your clothing to notice the two men towering above, their faces dangerously close to yours.

Being done with taking off your final piece of modesty, you finally lift up your head only to be met with Jun's breath fanning against your nose, while wonwoo blocked out the little space you had left to run away from this rendezvous.

"W-what!" you try to back up only to be hit by the paddings of the couch behind, nearly falling down if it wasn't for Jun's biceps holding you up, although the other option would've been way better, now that you feel his hands creeping up your bare back and play with the hooks of your bra.

"You think being stripped down to this purple lingerie with two men infront of you, more appropriately starving men, be the climax of tonight's adventures?" the oldest now pushes you down to the couch, spreading your legs with his to stand between them, all this while directing wonwoo to kneel down beside you by the handrest.

"We're in for a long night, right Jeon?" Jun snakes his arms behind you to slightly arch up your body, giving him enough space to discard your bra off of your chest quickly, while his knees were now bend up against your clothed cunt, grinding them on your clit.

"Kiss her wonwoo. Show her you're not just a loser who sits in his room and plays games". His remark was fueling enough for wonwoo's ego as he swiftly descends his face down to yours, trapping your lips into his, hands going around your jaw to hold you as close to him as possible.

The little bit of doubt and control that was clouding your mind from jumping right in was now cleared off as you get a taste of wonwoo, his mouth taking yours in completely, eating out your face as if he has never felt something as sweet as your lips.

The sweaty cat's hands tightly tug onto your hair as he feels you moaning into his mouth, from the sudden sensation of Jun's cold fingers drawing over your bare nipples, the sharpness of his ring leaving behind a trail of painful pleasure on your tits.

"Won't you help the poor boy out y/n? Ease out the painful boner that was caused by this sultry body of yours, hmm?" Jun takes one of you hands that was trapped behind you all this time and guides it to wonwoo's crotch, holding it down to push against his bulge constantly, making the younger bite on your lips from the heat building up.

You couldn't believe yourself as you were now palming wonwoo's dick from over his pants while Jun was playing with your boobs, spitting on them for his hands to glide down easily, pinching your nipples between his digits as he kneaded onto your mounds like he was gonna make bread out of them, knees never taking a break from rubbing your pussy.

"F-fuck y/n, I don't....don't wanna cum in my pants....stop pls!" wonwoo quickly pushes you back, detaching his lips from yours leaving behind a string of saliva still joining the two of you, as he fears that if you move your hands against his dick once more, he'll come undone then and there, which he definitely did not want.

The sudden absence of his warmth on your mouth and the absurd behavior of the elder, makes your eyes flash by a confused look, turning towards Jun as if to ask him why did wonwoo behave like that and what was their next step.

"I think it's time for us to take this to the bedroom. This couch is too small to accommodate both of us in you" your mouth literally hangs open at this as you slowly come to terms with the fact that tonight you were about to be railed by two men simultaneously. Not that you hated the idea tho.

Observing the accepting look on your face, Jun asks wonwoo to take you in his arms and bring you upstairs to the said bedroom, as he knew quite well that your legs were probably too weak to walk themselves up, after all the action his knees have been giving you for the past fifteen minutes.

Wonwoo carrying you like a sloth with your arms tied tightly around his neck as you rest your head in the crook of his neck, feels like nothing more than a dream for you. His broad shoulders shielding you from all the chaos of this world, his embrace feeling like home and his dick poking your butt from beneath - all was like a made up fairytale for you until Jun's voice decides to pull you out of the haze.

"What are you waiting for Jeon? Throw her on the bed. Let's see how well her pussy takes two cocks at the same time"

#kpop #seventeen #svtcreations #kpop scenarios #seventeen x reader #fanfic #seventeen x y/n #wonhui #wonwoo smut #junhui smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x y/n #junhui x reader #junhui x y/n #jun x y/n #jun x reader #svt x reader #svt x y/n #jun smut #svt wonwoo #svt jun #kpop smut #wonwoo #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo scenarios #junhui imagines #jun scenarios #jun imagines

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 6 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Honey finds out who Peter Parker really is.

words: 9.6 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. descriptions of violence. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

this is a darker, messier version of TASM Peter.

18+. you’re responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you can't remember how people watched videos online before youtube, you probably shouldn't continue.

Back to Part 5.

Part 6

When Peter approached Honey’s bedroom, he paused for a moment outside. Staring at the closed door, he tried to listen intently, but could not hear her heartbeat coming from the other side. An immediate uneasiness rattled his nerves. It climbed up his throat from his chest, and he swallowed reflexively.

She was gone. Again.

...you stupid fucking fool of course she left, why would she ever stay with you?...

He felt his heartbeat rising. His breaths got shorter with every draw

...alone again that’s all you’ll ever be until you die can’t come fast enough...

Deep breaths. In and out. The moment his nostrils flared, a warm, crisp, vibrant fragrance found him. Caramel and sugar browned by heat. 

Coffee. 

His other senses came online as he heard the patter of her feet on the floor below. And her heartbeat, clear as a bell. The sound soothed him, as it always did. A rhythm so unique to her it was like a signature. A kiss. 

There she is, the kinder voice in his head reassured him. He closed his eyes, centering himself. Kicked his negative thoughts away, angrily cursing himself for having them. Another deep breath softened his features. 

When he reached the first floor of his mountain retreat, he looked across the great room to see Honey in a familiar form. Nothing like the frightened shell she had been the past couple of days. She swiftly danced around his kitchen, graceful like a ballerina. She deftly dodged splatters from a pan of bacon, as if she could miraculously move between them, while she stirred a sizzling skillet of buttery eggs. 

He curled a brow as his nostrils read him the menu. Omelettes, he deduced. Something of the Southwestern variety, the aromas of diced peppers, onions, and jack cheese weaved together like music.

He allowed himself to be still and just watch. She was still wearing the wrinkled clothes from yesterday— 

Why hadn’t she changed? Did she know about the other clothes? What if she didn’t like anything— 

He watched, like he was the only member in the audience—How was she so good at that—making it seem like he was the only man left in the world. She’s just... so... so good...

“Oh!” she yelped as she turned and laid eyes on him for the first time. He blinked stiffly, bashful and regretful at having intruded on her privacy. “Geez, you scared me!” she exclaimed.

He winced at that. 

A nervous chuckle rolled off her tongue, regaining her composure. The sound of her laughter relieved him. He saw her shake her head good-naturedly, somehow amused. It was as confusing as much as it lifted a weight off of his chest.

“I didn’t hear you come in here,” she blushed. “You’re like a cat, you’re so quiet. You’re way too tall to be that quiet. You need to stomp more. Or wear tap shoes. Or a bell.” 

Nervously, she laughed again, turning the heat off on the gas stove. She looked back up at him with a eager face, presenting the skillet of impressive omelets. 

“Uhm... I made eggs. I didn’t know what you usually eat, ‘cos you never ordered any food when you’d come in, so I wasn’t sure, but then I remembered yesterday you made eggs and bacon and even ate a little, so I figured, um, omelettes and bacon...” 

She was nervous, but not scared. It was that high-energy manner of speaking, where she’d tell him a story, except this time she was in his home and was craftfully moving an omelette onto one of his plates with a spatula.

His heart ached at the sight.

“Can’t go wrong with that...” she rambled on, “unless you’ve got a pepper allergy? That would be dumb, though. Who has a pepper allergy?” Then, she added, nervously, “Not that you’re dumb! Food allergies aren’t dumb. They’re no joke. Very, very serious—”

“Shouldn’a done that,” Peter muttered under his breath, as he shook his head. He dropped his eyes to the floor, visibly agitated. He heard her heart skip. When he glanced back up, she looked pallid, her brilliant smile sinking like a torpedoed ship. 

“I-I-I’m sorry...” she delicately whimpered. Her body language shifted drastically. She nearly curled up on herself, although she was unsure why. “Were you... saving these eggs?”

Peter’s eyes widened, horrified at the appearance that he was somehow rejecting her kindness. He groaned, slapping his palms down his face and across his beard. Paced, anxious like a lion trapped in a cage. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” he babbled, distressed. In a blink he was across the kitchen, rounding the island, rushing up to her with hands extended.

This time when she flinched, it was unquestionably from fear. 

He stopped cold, dunked in a tub full of ice. It snapped his heart in half. He snatched his hands back, a painful expression on his face. For a brief moment, he squeezed his palms tight enough to hurt, then let his arms fall gently to his sides. He fixed his saddened gaze on the tiles at his feet. 

She stayed frozen in place, her heart thrumming away, as he cursed his inability to speak. He struggled to find words, as if they spoke separate languages. 

Christ, have you truly forgotten how to talk to anyone?

Peter cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “I, uh, what I meant was... uhm... you didn’t hafta do all this,” he sheepishly explained. “You... I, uh, I-I—” 

He choked on his words, feeling like his throat was tightening up. He placed a hand on his chest, and he felt the drum pounding beneath his ribs. 

He was visibly struggling, flailing as he drowned in an ocean of fear. Glancing up at her timidly at every other word. “I—I’m...”

I’m sorry. I’m a lunatic. I’m so sorry. I’m so insecure. I’m desperate. I’m afraid of losing you. I’m so, so sorry. I’m an asshole. I’m a coward. I’m so scared that you’ll get hurt. I can’t let you get hurt. I would never hurt you. I’d rather die than hurt you. I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m broken. I’m a monster. I’m so, so sorry.

“It’s more than I deserve.” His voice broke on the last word. The puny sound made him wince, and he ripped his gaze from her. He studied the floor, desperately willing his eyes to stop burning. 

She was silent.

And in his mind he shuddered to think about the million horrible things—loser, pathetic, stupid, disgusting little freak—she could think of him. 

“Want some coffee?” she asked, derailing the train off the tracks. “I made some.” 

His eyes found hers. Her expression was warm. Generous. He was stunned, in a familiar way. She never stopped surprising him. She turned back towards the espresso machine on the counter and carefully passed him a steaming latte. A heart expertly painted with foam on the surface.

His eyes burned again as he considered the shape and how there was so much more than his heart in her hands. Peter took the mug. 

“Thank you,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

They sat across from each other at the kitchen bar, eating mostly in silence. He tried not spend the majority of the time staring at her like a weirdo, but was mostly unsuccessful. She was hungry, ravenous even. He berated himself for not considering how hungry she must have been. He should’ve cooked for her.

He needed to do better. He would do better.

The omelet was delicious, even if the edges were browned a bit. Every bite was a savory morsel. He made a good show of trying to eat, despite the lack of appetite. 

It wasn’t that Peter wasn’t hungry. He was always hungry, especially after nights like the previous one. He just couldn’t stomach anything. He was grateful that at least the coffee staved off the pain of his hunger. For now.

She glanced over and caught him staring at her with a glazed over expression. He locked up instantly, the tips of his ears turning pink. Blushing, they both looked away, and he panicked—fuckfuckfucksaysomethingsaysomething—

“Smells good,” he muttered, before forcing a giant forkful into his mouth. 

...idiot...

Her lip curved upwards, amused. “Yeah? Does it taste as good as it smells?”

“Yes,” he nodded his head too forcefully, nearly choking on the eggs. He could feel something in his stomach threatening to push the food back up. With effort, he tried to reassure her his awkwardness wasn’t because he didn’t appreciate her cooking. It was because he was a dork. 

“No, yes. Yes, yes. It’s— it tastes good. Great. It’s… um…”

Delicious. Delectable. Tasty. Scrumptious. Mouthwatering. Finger-licking good.

“And, I mean, you—you’re, um—”

Lovely. Beautiful. Benevolent. An Angel. A goddess. Worthy of worship. Worth dying for.

“It’s good,” he said, wincing. Snapped his mouth closed.

She nodded, his discomfort only adding to hers. Cleared her throat awkwardly. “Thanks.”

She paused for just a moment, then words came spilling out, “Did you know that brown eggs aren’t any healthier than white eggs? They’re just brown. There’s no added nutritional value, and of course, they charge you more for them because they look more…granola…” 

The energy ran out of her sentence, confidence fading rapidly. “Everyone knows that, I guess. That’s not new… or remotely interesting.” She tucked the rest of her thoughts deep under her breath. She was dangling now in the world’s most awkward conversation.

“It’s my fault, what happened yesterday,” Peter announced, launching into a confessional. “I’m-I’m ashamed of myself.” 

She froze. Blinking like a deer in the headlights. 

He exhaled, his heart heavy. “I panicked,” he said, disappointedly. “I got angry. I blew up. And… those aren’t excuses. I’m not tryin’—” Peter pulled his gaze away, trying to steel himself while burning his retinas on the sunlight reflecting off of the windows in the kitchen. “There’s no excuse,” he affirmed. “I was wrong to treat you like that. I’m sorry.”

Her expression softened as she read his. The remorse weighed heavily on his face, pinching his brow. The lack of confidence melted years off of his face. Even with the scruffy beard, lightly salted by a handful of gray hairs, he looked like a boy with wrinkles at the corners of his puppy dog eyes. 

It was unfair of him to look that soft. It’s part of why she was in this situation in the first place.

“It’s just…” Peter added, delicately, subconsciously leaning in her direction, “you gotta understand... that you’re in danger. I don’t want you to get hurt. I can’t have you get hurt. I can protect you, and I will. With every breath in me, I will, but you gotta trust me—” 

“You say that like I know what you’re talking about,” she responded with a withering tone. Her frustration reared its head again as she pleaded desperately. “Like I know what you’re involved in or what’s going on. All I know is these weirdos pulled me off the subway and then I woke up to guns firing like it’s D-Day, and… I’m scared, alright? And I don’t even know who I should be scared of. I’m... in the dark!”

He sighed, “I’m trying to protect you.”

“You say that, but you expect me to just trust you? At what? Your word?” She fixed him with a hard gaze that pierced him. Peter had survived bullets and beatings and it was her mere disappointment that disarmed him. “What is your word supposed to mean to me? I didn’t even know your real name until two days ago—”

“I told you, it’s Ben—”

“I don’t care what you tell yourself. I don’t know you.”

“Alright,” he huffed, dropping his arms off the table and holding them open. “Then ask me. Ask me about me. Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Who is Peter Parker?”

He paused, biting down hard on his jaw. A look came across his face akin to stepping on a nail. With a crease in his brow, he glanced away. Ruefully, Peter replied, “Please don’t ask me about what I do.” He glanced down at his nearly-full plate with a stomach full of regret. “You can ask me about anything else. But the less you know, the better.”

“Because,” she pushed, considering him like trying to solve an equation, “you’re like... in a gang?”

“What? No.”

“Yes, you are. You’re a gang member. You’re... a gang leader. You’re the leader of a gang.”

“It’s not a gang.”

“It’s gang-like. Gang-adjacent. What would you call it? The mafia? The mob? Is that even a thing that still exists outside of Reality TV?” Peter exhaled, his head falling back. “You’re at war with a rival gang. Who is it?” She paused, struggling to remember a word through the fog of her brain. “You said a name the other night,” she pondered aloud. “What was it? Something like... Fis—”

“Don’t,” Peter snapped like a whip. 

She glanced up at him to see his demeanor completely change. Eyes gone cold as ice. 

His voice trembled, with fear or anger, she wasn’t sure. “We don’t say his name.”

The gravity of his tone gave her pause. It was as if she’d invoked the name of Satan himself. Or...

“Why can’t I say his name?” she shot back, irritated. “What is he, Voldemort?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Worse.”

She paused, considering this information. There was a quiet rage interred within his tone. Something haunted. Cursed. Perhaps it was the Devil.

“He goes by Kingpin,” Peter explained, the word souring his stomach further.

“What is it with you and nicknames?” she deflected with a bratty tone. “Like ‘Honey.’ Why do you call me that?” 

Peter’s eyes found hers again, warmer now. There was a flicker in them as his lip curled in a half smirk. “You don’t like it?” he questioned, pinning her with a devilish half-smile. “Funny, I kinda thought you did.”

She looked away, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat. “You thought I liked that you don’t know my real name?” she accused challengingly, avoiding his gaze.

“Of course I know your name,” he stated sincerely, an unquestionable devotion thickening his voice. It was almost as if he was offended that she would assume otherwise. Peter raised one brow, teasingly, “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Her heart began to race. “You didn’t answer mine.”

He considered her silently, studying her stubbornly-drawn line in the sand. His smile dropped into a pit of melancholy, eyes clouding. He sipped on the espresso drink. There was bitterness on his tongue, but not from the latte. “Real names are tricky in my line of work,” he admitted. “Dangerous if the wrong person hears them.”

She weighed the logic in his response, realizing that there wasn’t room to argue. But she carved out a space, regardless. “What if I don’t like ‘Honey’?”

His lips pulled back to reveal a devastatingly lethal smile. “Okay,” he played along, feeling like they were back in the coffee shop. They had shifted so effortlessly into the playful banter that had been the crowned jewel of so many mornings with her. “What do you want me to call you then?”

A long pause fell between them. She crossed her arms. Kept her face solid as rock. “Ma’am,” she shot back. “Or miss.” 

He blinked at her. 

Every following word tumbled from her mouth with the grace of a newborn calf. “Madam... Jane… Bond.” Her mouth kept moving, despite the lack of a plan. “Agent Jane Bond. From the... MI... B. The MIB.”

He stared at her incredulously. She matched his staring contest with an awkwardly overconfident glare that suggested she was clearly ‘winging it.’ The silence weighed heavily in the room.

“That’s fake,” he blurted dismissively, shaking his head.

“Says you.”

He chuckled, “That’s awful.” 

“No, it’s not...awful. It's an alias.”

“It sounds fake.”

“Ben Reilly sounds fake,” she sneered, slightly offended. His smile dimmed a bit, but not at her childish antics. “It’s dumb. It’s a dumb, made-up name—”

“Benjamin is my middle name,” he softly revealed. “It was my Uncle’s name. Reilly was my Aunt’s maiden name.” His voice deepened, a little more grit to his words. “Your name is Honey, because I say it is.”

The heated resolve of his voice reverberated in the air. It simmered on the heat of his mounting frustration.

This time, she kept her mouth shut, breaking eye contact and focusing on her nearly-empty plate. He observed the distress on her face and frowned. As if he needed another reason to hold more contempt for himself. 

After a few moments, he let out a long sigh. “I am more than just a name,” Peter declared, gently this time. “I’m more than my job.” 

She met his eyes again to find him gazing at her with an earnest expression. “I’m no more a... gangster,” he stumbled over the ridiculousness of the word, “than you are a ‘coffee girl.’”

She stayed silent, considering his position. 

“You can live off of assumptions all you want. But if you want to know what kinda man I am, just ask,” he said, closing his argument.

She stared. Reading every inch of his face. The warm whiskey hue of his eyes. It was as if she had x-ray vision and could see beneath his skin. It took all of his will power not to squirm.

Studying him with a microscopic gaze, she asked, “What’s your favorite movie?” 

He furrowed his brow. Wondered if he heard her right. “What?”

“What’s your favorite movie?” she repeated, her tone steel.

Peter blinked, blindsided. “Are you… are you trollin’ me or somethin’—?“

“You’re asking me to make an important character judgment with practically nothing to go on,” she spoke quietly and evenly, glaring daggers at him. He squirmed beneath her skewering gaze. “Now, it’s not a hard question. And the longer you avoid it, the more suspicious I become of your psyche. Now answer the question. What. Is. Your. Favorite. Movie?”

His shoulders went up to his ears, flabbergasted. “Do I even get a genre, or—?”

“Favorite movie! First thing that comes to mind.”

“Uh… um—”

“Don’t think! Just answer!”

“The Sandlot!”

Her brows practically touched her hairline. “The Sandlot?!” she repeated, almost in disbelief. “That’s your favorite movie?”

“Yeah!” he yelped, defensively. “It... It was! I mean, it is… a favorite. One of them.” 

It was almost comical how he leaned back in his chair, shrinking away from the scrutiny of her gaze. 

He babbled nervously, “I-I watched it so many times as a kid, I wore out the tape and it got stuck in Uncle Ben’s VCR.” 

She quirked a brow, and he was puzzled as to why he felt the need to share that bit of information. But then, he just kept going. 

“It’s-it’s a great film,” he declared, more confidently. “A great, coming-of-age film. With the-the one kid who doesn’t know anything about baseball, but he ends up becoming friends with the popular kid who’s really good at baseball. And he loses the ball signed by Babe Ruth… And the scary, giant dog that drools all over that’s actually a nice dog, and the old guy that owns him is also nice—”

“—award-winning actor James Earl Jones,” she admonished. “Darth Vader. Or Mufasa, if you prefer.“

“I-I genuinely did not remember that,” he replied, “but-but now that I do, I-I have even more respect for the movie, thank you—“ 

It was a hilarious sight, Peter thought. If only the criminal underworld could witness the most fearsome gangster in New York... shrinking under the accusatory glare of the woman across the table. Timidly defending his blustering thesis on a kids movie from the 90s.

Her eyes burned him. Glared at him, hard. He felt like an insect being trapped in the deathray of a magnifying glass. And then she burst into a fit of giggles. He pulled his head back, trying and failing to read her reaction. 

“Your favorite movie is The Sandlot,” she heaved with laughter, tears budding in the corners of her eyes.

His brow shot up. “What’s wrong with that?” he said, flustered. “You told me to name the first movie I could think of so I named the first—there’s nothing wrong with liking The Sandlot!”

“No, no, of course not,” she sighed, breathlessly. “No, Sandlot’s really good! I just thought you were gonna go with something basic... like The Godfather.”

He cocked his head. Now he was offended. Slightly. “The Godfather is one of the greatest—”

“Greatest movies of all time,” she finished his sentence, rolling her eyes teasingly. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard. It’s great. But is it really anyone’s favorite?” She punctuated her question with a high-pitched tone of skepticism. “Like, really?” Her eyes glittered, smile beaming. 

His lips curved up at the sight. A reflex. “It’s... a favorite—”

“No, it’s not,” she shook her head, good-naturedly. “It’s no one’s favorite. Everyone just says that it is.”

“Okay, Miss Movie Expert,” he snickered with a teasing tone. “What’s your favorite movie, then?”

“Oh,” she answered, without hesitation, “Goonies. Of course.”

“The Goonies?” Now he was on the offense.

“Duh.”

“The Goonies is basically The Sandlot in the woods.”

“It’s not even close. They’re nothing alike.”

“They’re similar,” he argued objectively. “That’s your favorite movie?”

“Well, only recently.” Her sweet voice melted over him like caramel. “When I was a kid it was Space Jam.” 

Peter was taken aback. “What?!” He erupted into laughter. “Space Jam? How old were you when your favorite movie was Space Jam?” 

She didn’t even blink. “Twenty-five.” 

He snorted as a grin spread across her lips. Had he been sipping coffee at that moment, it would’ve embarrassingly shot out of his nostrils.

“What?” she jested, still grinning. “I went through a very serious basketball phase!”

He unsuccessfully attempted to conceal his laughter, chuckling into his palms. “But you’re... so... tiny...” he giggled affectionately. 

“Really?” she scoffed, with mock offense. “Short jokes? What—did you play basketball?”

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. Shrugged shyly, charm dripping from a coy smirk. “Eh... a little.”

“Were you on a team?”

“Nah, not coordinated enough. Really the only thing I could do well was skate.”

“Figure skate?” Her eyes lit up, comically wide.

“No! What?” Wrinkles bloomed from the corners of his eyes. “A skateboard!”

She narrowed her eyes, impressed, and it ignited a fire beneath his face. “You were a skater boy? Or were you a sk8er boi? Like with the number eight?”

“I skated, yes—”

“You wore Vans slip-ons?”

“I own Vans slip-ons,” he affirmed, nodding his head, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Somewhere. From back then.”

Her laughter bloomed in his chest. He could’ve died a happy man to hear it.

A couple of hours later, they were walking side-by-side. She was freshly showered, wearing a simple cotton zip-up and jeans she’d retrieved from the duffle bag from Peter’s other place. Peter looked clean and crisp in a polo, hands shoved into the pockets of sharply-tailored khaki trousers. 

They took a leisurely stroll around the property via a flagstone-paved pathway. It rounded through towering pine, maple, and oak trees, just feet away from the cabin. It twisted alongside moss-covered fallen trees and granite boulders worn down from mountains a million years ago. Her questions flowed now, trickling out like the nearby river. Like with every step, her mind was inspired to travel somewhere new. 

Can you play any instruments?

What’s your Zodiac sign and do you agree with it?

What’s the last TV show you binged?

It was exhilarating to listen to. Exhausting, but only in an adventurous way.

“What’s your favorite color?” She’d hit him with that just as he approached an old log railing leftover from the property’s original owners. They had come to a natural stop, and he half-sat on the rail, arms crossed. 

She hopped up and perched on the opposite railing in a way that made him nervous, but only slightly. He was in arm’s reach of her. He would catch her before she could fall. Always.

“Red,” he answered without much thought. She hummed with an understanding nod. “Yours?” he asked behind a shy smile.

“Space.”

He curled a brow. “So... black?”

“No, silly,” she admonished warmly. “Not the absence of light. I’m talking about the full-color spectrum of creation.” She waxed on, like Plato describing Utopia.  “It’s pure. Primordial. Something so beyond human capability that it can barely be named, much less understood and appreciated.” 

He admired her, even as he countered studiously, “Well, they can. Be named. A mixture of raw elements broken down into 90-percent hydrogen, 9-ish-percent helium and any combination of smaller heavy metals—”

“Eww,” she grinned, staring through slitted eyes. “Nerd.” 

“If you could take any animal and shrink it to the size of a housecat and keep it as a pet, what would you choose?”

By the late afternoon, they were back inside, both lounging across from each other on opposite ends of a contemporary, neutral sectional in the great room. 

He stared into the distance with narrowed eyes, deep in contemplation. “Do I have to shrink it?” he asked. “Can I make it bigger?”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Go on.”

“Chikunia bilde.”

“A whatiya building?”

He slyly smirked, the action itself a sin. “It’s a type of spider,” Peter explained. “They’re only in Indonesia. It’s the world’s friendliest spider.”

Her eyes bugged out of her skull. “You want to make a spider the size of a housecat and keep it in your house? As a pet? What is wrong with you?”

“Hey! Spiders get a bad rap,” he defended. He sounded sensitive about it in a curious way that pulled a smile from her lips. 

“They’re so hairy!” she winced.

“Not this one. It looks like a Hershey’s kiss walking around on stilts with giant googley eyes.”

She tried to draw the picture in her mind. “Well... that sounds... cute... weirdly.” 

She gave it more thought, then sprang back to life. “I would pick a giraffe.” He grinned over at her, listening for her explanation. “Did you know that giraffes can’t lift their feet more than a foot off the ground because they’re afraid of falling? I feel that. Hashtag giraffacts.”

“You sympathize with a giraffe?”

“Every time I wear heels,” she said, grimly. A crease formed between her brows, and he wanted to plant his lips there. He gazed at her in quiet admiration. 

After hours of talking about a million trivial things, he’d learned so much. He’d taken a bite from the Tree of Knowledge. He had seen the light. He knew the truth.

He was smitten. Badly so. Every time he looked at her, he felt like he was on fire, and every time she looked at him, he wanted to melt. Third-degree burns.

“Wait a minute,” she shot him a glare. “Was that another backhanded short joke?”

Blazing. Brighter than the Sun.

“Course not,” he feigned innocence. “And even if it was, it went right over your head.” 

She chucked a pillow at him. “You’re a menace.”

“S’what my friends say,” Peter shrugged coolly. 

She looked over at him, capturing the toasted caramel of his eyes. Licked her lips subconsciously. The sight of it made his abs clench, like going over the peak of a rollercoaster. 

“What else do they say?” she questioned. Her heart was beating faster.

Peter glanced at the clock for a moment, smirk never fading. “You’re gonna get a chance to ask them yourself. Soon.” 

She quirked her brow in response. “Are you throwing a party?”

“Not exactly,” he muttered with an amused chuckle. A flush of pink tinged his cheeks. “If I tried to throw a party with these guys, things would go south real quick. Regrets all around.”

To anyone listening, their rapport had evolved in just a few hours. It sounded like they were old friends, shooting the shit on a lazy afternoon. Their conversation flowed like a river, bending and shifting with the landscape, instead of against it.

It was disarming to her. They sat across the giant living room, which by all accounts, could’ve easily housed several smaller living rooms. But they were so much closer than they had been when the day started. 

Perhaps it was the playful way he’d answer her questions, like he was trying to match wits and make her laugh. And the sound of his laughter was just as mesmerizing. 

It felt like playing. Maybe it was foolish of her, but she liked playing with him. She wondered how many other people got to see this part of him. 

“Regrets or Re-grats?” she snorted softly. Held her nose, trying unsuccessfully to extinguish the embarrassing sound. 

Judging by his glowing grin, it seemed like he enjoyed it. “Both. Definitely both.”

“Ooh—okay, there’s a good question,” she crooned as fuzziness clouded her senses up, building in her breast. She had to peel her eyes away from his. The amber hue of his irises made her feel like a schoolgirl, especially whenever he smiled like that. “What’s your biggest regret?”

She waited, trying to hold her face steady, but her cheeks were starting to hurt from grinning like a fool. And she waited. And waited. No response. She looked over at him, and her smile dropped.

Peter was still sitting in the same spot, but he was also somewhere else. Somewhere hostile. Brow furrowed, face firm as stone, mouth twisted as if he’d swallowed something bitter. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. Whoever he was looking at was getting his full ire. The gold of his eyes had gone cold, replaced with blackened storm clouds. 

Her stomach turned as she realized what had happened: her stupid question hit a nerve. Of course it would. Who even asks something so personal like that—would you shut up for 5 minutes, always with the questions, you never stop!—and now that she had—stupid, nosy little brat, you’ve ruined everything—it was too late. 

Peter came to an abrupt stand, his spine straightening rigidly. Reflexively, she sat up at attention, looking up at him from the couch. She felt so small compared to him. 

Her ‘friend’ was gone again. Her captor was back.

“Go back to your room,” he suggested, with an order hiding underneath. She dipped her chin for some reason, anxiously searching for sympathy on his face from beneath her brows. He refused to look at her. Tugged on the edge of his shirt. Cleared his throat. “We’ll have company soon. You can come out when they get here, if ya want. Maybe put on somethin’ nice.” 

She glanced down at her casual attire—the hoodie and jeans—and suddenly, she felt so homely. Unruly and unkempt—would it kill you to brush your hair, you look like some wild Indian girl. Is that who I raised you to be?

She thumbed her palm, wanting to apologize. Wanting to say anything, but he didn’t give her the chance. After his flippant remark, he strode off, marching up the stairs to attend to something more important. 

A few hours later, she emerged from her room hearing voices other than Peter’s. She gripped the banister tightly as she carefully descended the stairs wearing wedge-heeled, suede boots that rested just below her knee. She tugged down the hem of the form-fitting, cashmere turtleneck dress. It took all of her will not to continually tug on the neck, which felt like a collar choking her. She didn’t look like herself at all. A vampy black-on-black look. She felt ridiculous. And itchy.

She loathed turtlenecks, but of the options she’d arrived with, her only other nice blouse was the shirt dirtied by yesterday’s tree-climbing adventure. For some reason beyond her understanding, the idea of embarrassing Peter by looking like that dirty kid from the Peanuts cartoon was mortifying. 

It was ridiculous, really. Infuriatingly so.

She was a kidnapping victim, for Christsakes. Why did it matter what she looked like? Why did she care what he thought? 

Why did she spend an hour doing her makeup, then debating whether she should wear jeans and a camisole, and how much boob is too much boob? and maybe she could do laundry—there’s gotta be a laundry room—and fuck it, I’m wearing sweatpants—before finally settling on dress she wore. As if it wasn’t one of three options.

She wore a timid look at the bottom of the steps. It was the winter formal all over again, and she was without a date. Except around her was a small group of mobsters. About fifteen of them, in total.

The group of mostly men clamoured on, chatting with occasionally raucous peaks. People were milling about the living room and dining area. Some faces she recognized. A couple of them leaned over a pool table, cue in hand, lining up their shots—wait, she hadn’t even noticed the pool table? 

Everyone had a drink in hand. But Peter had been right—this didn’t feel like a celebration. 

Instead, there was an air of tension hanging over the group. Everyone on edge. Every entrance blocked by men who weren’t socializing like the others. Guards, she assumed. Probably with guns. The thought of sneaking out the door while everyone was distracted vanished. She took another step forward, approaching the crowd from the staircase. 

A dip in conversation caught her attention. Some faces looked her in her direction with blaring silence, eyeing her in a way that made her want to scamper back up the stairs. She didn’t belong here. Perhaps they were thinking the same thing. She kept her eyes down, until she spotted Peter entering the room. 

He looked absolutely lethal. Devastatingly handsome. Wearing a designer straight-fit jacket with a notched collar and wide, fluid trousers, both in midnight-black and moonlight-silver pinstriped wool. His collared, matte-black silk shirt had the top buttons unfastened, revealing a contrast of pale skin past his collarbone. His lambskin black leather boots were glossed to a high shine, the pointed toe peaking out beneath the width of the pants leg. 

As she took him in, one question rang in her mind: where the fuck was he going dressed like that? The next question was why was her mouth watering, and could anyone notice?

Before she thought too hard about it, his eyes were on her. Whiskey-gold, entranced, and hungry. She felt heat creep up her back.

Blushing, she looked away as he breezed up to her, stopping just barely out of arm’s reach. She felt dizzy, the skin beneath the turtleneck prickling with sweat. 

“You, uh...” Peter began, his tone shy, “you look... amazing.”

Butterflies fluttered in her belly, and she wanted nothing more than to crush them beneath her foot. “Thanks,” she swallowed hard. She tried to avoid eye contact, because him looking at her made her weaker, and she couldn’t afford to forget what he was. 

Who was he again?

“I thought you said you weren’t having a party.” Her tone was calm, coquettish.

“Uh, yeah, um,” Peter glanced around, as if remembering the room was full of people. “These, uh... these people work with me.”

She lifted a brow. “You have co-workers in your gang?”

“It’s not a—” he bit off, flinching. “It’s... complicated.”

“The gang or the co-workers?”

“They work for me,” Peter clarified. “I trust them with my life.” He swallowed hard, glancing down at his feet, then back up at her. There was that boyish look that contrasted so much with who he was trying to be. “You said you wanted to know about Peter Parker,” he added. “These are the right people to ask.”

She watched him, intrigued. Fascinacion meeting confusion. He was hot and cold. Darkness and light. Wide open and closed shut. Right now, he was trying to open up. He looked nervous, despite the confidence he exuded when he walked into the room.

A chilly draft breezed in, as they both turned towards the source. Breathlessly, Miles strolled in with a giant backpack slung over his shoulder. Her tension lifted as she recognized the teen’s friendly face. He walked up to them, gripping the bulging bag tight.

“Miles,” Peter said curiously, sounding surprised to see him. 

“Hi, sorry I’m late I got caught up inna thing is the food here?” All of the words came flooding out at once, in between winded breaths. 

“You’re supposed to be back home,” Peter admonished. He sounded... parental, almost. 

“Yeah, I just... need some help with somethin’. Real quick.” Miles began with sheepish eyes, lifting the backpack over his shoulder. Peter tilted his head, letting his shoulders slump. He looked disappointed. Honey glanced back between the two men curiously.

“When’s the test?” Peter sighed. 

Miles said with a wince, “Um... now?”

“Now?” Peter exclaimed.

Miles glanced at his watch, “I mean, now until... 11:59pm.”

“Miles!” he groaned. “Again?”

“Okay, I know what you’re gonna say,” the teenager replied, “and I really wanna hear you out because it is all valid, but... we’ve only got like 57 minutes to talk this out before time is up.”

“Talk what out?” Peter sighed, planting his hands on his hips.

Miles dug his hand into his backpack, pulling out his laptop in one fluid yank. He popped open the lid, opening the screen up to a jumble of letters and numbers in a web browser. Peter huffed as he glanced at the screen and the timer steadily counting down. Full ‘disappointed dad’ face.

Miles took a deep breath, and began, “Okay, so obtaining equilibrium in the decomposition of ammonia...”

That was the first thing Honey learned about Peter Parker: He was smart. Really smart. 

“Kind of a bookworm type, ya know? He’s got a big brain.” 

That summary came from a tall, loud-mouthed, blonde with a million-dollar smile, who was way too handsome to be in crime. Unless being handsome was the crime. 

The only unattractive thing about him was that he obviously knew he was attractive. Dripping with a flirtatious charm that bordered on cocky, he leaned back on the edge of the pool table. His biceps bulged from a t-shirt that was two sizes too small. 

He’d been fast-talking Honey’s ear off since he saw her standing alone, people-watching from the sidelines. She would’ve been flattered if he didn’t remind her of every frat guy morphed together at once. Like a Frat-kenstien. 

She heard Miguel refer to him as “Torchy.” She had asked for his name, and when he told her it was Johnny Storm she scoffed to herself, rolling her eyes. As far as aliases go, his was the fakest-sounding name of all.

“I mean, not the biggest in the room,” he snickered. “I’ve seen bigger.” Honey blinked a few times, wondering is this guy seriously making a dick joke right now. 

“You sure you don’t want one?” he asked. He reached over and offered a shot glass filled with a double-pour of amber liquid. She glanced down at the glass with a frown, the spicy cinnamon scent stinging her nostrils.

“No, thanks,” Honey replied, polite. “It’s a little early for Fireball.”

“Early? It’s past 11, party girl,” he laughed. He put the glass to his lips and downed it in a gulp like a seasoned pro. She winced as she watched, amazed that the burn didn’t phase him. “You like to stay up late, huh?” he questioned, his breath coming out hot like fire.

“So what did you mean when you said it ‘ran in Peter’s family’?” she asked, much to his disappointment. “How long have you known Peter? Are you best friends? Do you know his family?”

“Uh, no... Haven’t known him that long. Only a couple years,” he answered. His body seemed to relax, as if he was sucking in the whole time and he let himself deflate. “And no, I didn’t meet ‘em. Read about ‘em though. His dad was some crazy smart scientist. And uh, yeah... I guess genius runs in the family.”

“As for the other thing,” Johnny added, thoughtfully, “I don’t think Peter has any best friends.” 

It wasn’t unkind, the way he said it. But the answer was painful to process. It fit in with the portrait she was beginning to paint. Then, she considered his earlier response. “Was?” Honey asked. ��His dad was a genius?”

That was the next thing she learned: Peter was an orphan.

“It’s a dark tale,” another man with a solemn face explained. Honey had noticed him sitting by himself, hunched over the bar. He seemed older than the others, with long facial features and a sharp hooked nose poking out from the brim of a black fedora. He hadn’t bothered to remove the black duster jacket the whole time. 

She’d asked for his name too, but she got another stupid codename: Noir.

“What happened?” Honey asked, morbidly intrigued.

“I’d tell you,” he said, grimly, “but I’d have to kill you.” She stared at him, face twisted in confusion. Without looking in her direction, Noir stood from the bar, taking his glass of whiskey, and breezed off. 

Getting answers about Peter Parker was proving more difficult than asking Peter for details directly. She sighed, knowing she needed to pivot. So she continued the line of questioning that yielded the most success.

“If Peter was a tree—?”

“Yes,” Honey replied, repeating her earlier question. “What kind of tree would he be?” She stood with two other men—Miguel O’Hara, and a dark-skinned, lanky man with an East London accent sporting a mohawk fade. 

The Brit with the distressed denim vest adorned in pins and patches glanced at Miguel, who silently pondered the question. “What kinda bonkers question is‘at?” he said, although with his accent it sounded more garbled.

Miguel kept his arms crossed in front of his chest, debating quietly. A smirk settled on his face. He gave her his answer. “A weeping willow.”

“Maple tree,” the one called Eddie answered, his mouth stuffed full of chocolate cupcake. Honey stood with him in the corner of the kitchen next to the refrigerator. He’d been alone since he arrived, keeping to himself and pretending not to notice the dirty looks the others gave him. Honey noticed.

She also noticed that no cupcakes were served. Didn’t recall seeing any in the refrigerator, either. 

“Hmm...” She pondered his response and also—did this guy just bring a cupcake for himself, who does that, is he diabetic?  “Interesting,” she replied, straight-faced.

“Maple, because he’s gotta sweet tooth,” Eddie explained, licking buttercream frosting from his fingers. “I’ve seen it.”

“Apple tree.” Felicia sounded confident in her answer. 

Standing near a temperature-controlled wine case, which of course encompassed the entire wall, Honey watched her pop the cork on a bottle of Dom Perignon. She helped herself, plucking the rose gold foil-wrapped bottle from the top rack. Honey caught a glimpse at the vintage year on the label. The bottle was older than she was. 

“Want some?” Without waiting for a reply, Felicia poured the champagne into a crystal flute and handed it over, before pouring one for herself.

“Oh, uh…” Honey considered protesting, but it was too late. She watched Felicia down her glass. “Apple, huh? What makes you say that?” 

Felicia gave her a sly look. “Have you seen his ass?”

Honey choked on the bubbles of her drink, her face flushing with embarrassment. 

Felicia grinned salaciously, “I mean, doesn’t it just, y’know... kinda make you wanna take a bite out of it?” She hopped up on the counter, crossed her thighs while she poured herself another glass. 

“Um, I, uh—” Honey timidly stuttered. 

She was used to Nasrin’s crude wisecracks making her blush, but this was turning her red. She glanced across the room to see Peter still tucked away in a corner with Miles as he explained advanced chemistry in under seven minutes. She couldn’t help but recall the prurient memory of Peter, dripping wet in the shower that morning. 

‘Apple’ really was a good description. Honey attempted to brush the guilty look off her face, but Felicia saw it and ran with it. 

“Yeah, I see you,” she teased with a smirk. “See, it’s the pants.” Honey glanced over at her curiously, before the silver-haired woman explained. “Tailoring is a must. If only you coulda seen him when I met him. All baggy, wrinkled t-shirts and skinny jeans with holes. Not an ounce of style. He thought Saint Laurent was an actual saint! If I hadn’t intervened, he’d still look like some sort of homeless hipster. I practically saved his life.” 

Both women were staring now, sizing him up from across the room. Honey found their blatant objectification disgusting. Sorta.

“He’s certainly learned a few things, but most of his wardrobe inspiration came from me,” Felicia added, an air of pride in her voice. She took a sip, savoring it this time. “We did a whole Pretty Woman montage and everything. ‘Cept, he was the hooker and I was the one with the black card.”

“Oh,” she replied, the thought hitting her like a truck. “Then are you… and Peter…um... Are you—?” She let the words taper off, feigning mild curiosity. In reality, she went rigid at the thought of Peter being with another woman. A gorgeous woman. A tall, gorgeous woman. What was that? Jealousy?

“What?” Felicia didn’t mince words. “Are we fucking?” She barked out a laugh. “Oh, god no,” Honey cracked an amused smile, trying to hide her relief. Why was she so relieved? “I mean… he’s cute,” she went on, “but... sorta in an annoying little brother way?”

Honey sneaked another glance over at Peter, imagining what his younger self must have looked like. Was he as shy and awkward as she was in high school?

“Well, his idea of Casual Friday has certainly elevated,” Honey bitterly grumbled, recalling his snarky comment about her outfit. 

“Ugh, he’s a man. A Leo man. If I had to guess, it’s probably more of a pride thing,” Felicia shrugged thoughtfully. “It’s called power dressing for a reason.” 

Honey watched Felicia’s eyes drift down her dress, sizing her up. She blushed at the attention. “It’s important to acknowledge our assets,” the silver-haired vixen clinked her glass against hers. It was a strange sort of camaraderie. “They can be handy tools when you need ‘em. Believe me, sweetie, an ass like yours in that dress, I’m sure Petey will fall right in line.”

Honey flushed with embarrassment. “I, uh... I wasn’t trying... to— It’s not like.... I don’t even like turtlenecks.”

“So why dontcha wear something else? It’s not like you don’t have options.”

“What are you talking about? What options?”

When she looked back at Felicia, the woman was staring at her incredulously. She snorted and burst into laughter, forced to hold her nose.

Honey watched her struggle to regain her composure. “What’s so funny?”

Felicia pulled herself together, shaking her head apologetically. “Did Peter not even tell you about the clothes? All that stuff in the closet?”

She shuddered uncomfortably, recalling that she borrowed a pair of hiking boots the day before. “I don’t know who that stuff belongs to,” she explained. “I can’t just… wear someone else’s underwear...”

The woman’s expertly microbladed brows shifted high. “Oh, Honey,” Felicia shook her head, using the same term of endearment that Peter used. “You think those clothes belong to someone else? He bought them for you.”

Honey blinked at her, her brain struggling to catch up. The giant walk-in closet in the guest room. The shelves of shoes in every style. In her size.

“I don’t know what idea you had about Petey,” Felicia smirked, “but that underwear is yours, sweetie.”

Whatever came next in the conversation, Honey couldn’t keep up. Her mind kept drifting back to the same place. He’d bought her a wardrobe. He’d bought her those shoes. 

That’s the next thing she learned about Peter: he had no intention of letting her go.

At some point, the conversation died down. The small crowd began to shuffle out of the common space. Honey placed her emptied champagne glass on the kitchen bar. As she turned to follow the crowd, Peter appeared, blocking her path.

She tensed, coming face-to-face with him. He noticed .

“I, uh... have some business to attend to,” Peter explained. He sounded apologetic. She looked over his shoulder to see the room nearly empty. “I want you to hang out here with Miles.”

She looked over to see the teenager posted up at the dining table, tapping away on his keyboard. It wasn’t like he needed help, or a babysitter— His true intention struck her. She was the one being watched. Bitterly, her eyes flicked back to Peter. She crossed her arms, visibly annoyed, but didn’t bother to argue. It was useless anyway.

A smile formed on his lips. “Good girl.” 

A chill crawled down her spine. She was powerless against it. He shouldn’t make her react that way. She shouldn’t react that way. 

Peter hesitated a moment more, eyeing her quietly. She had the uncomfortable feeling she was being read. He then stepped away. She watched him disappear into a different wing of the house.

Again, it was just her and Miles. With a huff, she retrieved her champagne flute again, and gave herself a generous pour of the expensive champagne. 

She brought the glass to her lips, rueing her situation and every choice in her life leading up to that point. The tapping ceased as Miles jumped to his feet excitedly.

“Done!” he cheered, with a celebratory fist pump in the air. “Woooo. Take that, AP Chemistry!” He shuffled his feet, wiggling out a happy dance, then abruptly stopped.

“Gotta pee,” Miles announced, eyes suddenly panicked. Urgently, he rushed off towards the nearest bathroom. Honey couldn’t help but chuckle at the interaction, hearing the door slam. She shook her head, amused, glancing around at the empty room.

Her eyes settled on Miles’ laptop. Left open. Unattended.

Honey glanced out of the windows into the darkness outside. Wherever the guards had gone, they were out of sight. She struggled indecisively, anxiously glancing around. Heart pounding, she set her glass down and darted over to the open laptop.

To her delight, it was unlocked. She glanced warily at the still-closed bathroom door. She pulled up a new tab in the web browser. 

What was she even doing? This was wrong. She was betraying Peter’s trust. 

She had to get out of there. Needed to communicate with someone, and fast. Was 911 an option online?

Pulled up a search bar, typing “New York City police” with the keyboard and hitting the search button. The first results came up. Her eyes froze, fixed on two photos on the screen. Women that she recognized as her co-workers. 

She was confused. Her mind was spinning. She clicked on the images, bringing up the full-page news article. Words swam in front of her and her skin felt clammy. She felt nauseous. She read the headline over and over. 

Confused. Mistaken.

She read the headline again. The one directly over the photos. The photos of the kind faces she saw just a couple of days ago. The women she knew.

POLICE ASK FOR PUBLIC’S HELP: NO SUSPECTS IN BRUTAL MIDTOWN SLAYINGS - Mayor: No rest until ‘savage’ killers are captured 

She scrolled down. Looked at their faces. Looked at the headline. Her eyes were ahead, but her mind was far behind. 

Eighteen months in the past, as she’s shaking Nasrin’s hand, and spends the rest of the afternoon learning that she’s a pre-med student, and she has two little brothers that annoy her, and her mother worries too much about her.

Four weeks ago, she’s looking up at Leyla as she calmly helps her mop up a gallon of knocked over milk, joking that there’s no use crying over it. Except that Honey actually wants to cry because this motherlike woman is so kind and positive about it, and Honey isn’t used to anyone reacting that way when she made mistake.

Her eyes are reading words that don’t correlate. Words like ‘murder’ and ‘arson’ and ‘stabbing.’ There’s a photo of the coffee shop that looks just like the one she works at, except it’s barely recognizable. It’s a charred, burned-out skeleton of a frame.

There’s a picture forming in Honey’s head as she puts the pieces together. Two innocent women were murdered, viciously. Cruelly. Without mercy. Stabbed to death, and their bodies further desecrated and then burned beyond recognition. Ensuring that no one would see their faces again. 

There were shocked reactions from the community. Funerals planned. Flowers and a candlelight vigil. 

And all of it had happened because of her.

Hands were gripping her forearms. Her face was cold. Wet with tears. She was freezing cold.

Honey was shrieking at the top of her lungs, unable to recall when she had begun. Shaking uncontrollably.

She howled and bawled, muttering incoherently nonononononono through heaving sobs.

There was a woman holding her up. It was Felicia. The entire room was full again. Men on high alert, stirred into action at the sound of her panicked screams. Miles stood nearby, looking blindsided. Panicked. Regretful.

He was saying something—just left her for a minute, I didn’t know—and he sounded desperate. There’s a voice barking back at him. It’s Peter’s.

“Everybody out!” Peter snapped, his voice booming like thunder. 

Miguel answered, tension and impatience thinning his tone, “Parker, we still have unfinished business to sort out—”

“I said everybody out!” he roared, eyes flashing, black as coal. The whole room fell silent. “Now!”

Without further hesitation, Peter’s men shifted and filed out of the exits. Soon, only Miles and Felicia remained.

Miles was at the end of Peter’s razor-sharp gaze. “Go home.” His voice was a bit calmer, but no less cold. The teenager looked like a kicked puppy. He gathered his laptop and his backpack and slinked out of sight.

Peter then turned to Felicia, who was still gripping Honey by the shoulders. She sat with her on the couch, trying to keep the hysterical woman upright.

“That means you, too,” he firmly ordered. 

Felicia shook her head, the young woman’s cries having cut her deep. Maybe it was a memory that struck too close to home. “Just give the girl a minute, will ya, Pete?” she snapped with frustration.

Peter’s voice dropped lower, as did the temperature of the room. “Out, Felicia. Now.”

The timbre of his voice was piercing. A silent scream. Felicia glanced up at him, stunned. Unnerved. He glared right back, blood pumping with rage. The darkness tinting his eyes made him unrecognizable. Even to her.

Reluctantly—bitterly—she released her hold on Honey’s arms. She stared at her boss with a flicker of defiance, a subtle warning. Then she stormed off, her heels clicking like a shrill drum.

They were alone. Peter took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose. His eyes softened as they rested on her. She looked at him, feeling tiny in his towering gaze. He looked like a god looming over her. And she hated him for it.

“I’m sorry,” Peter began gently. “Tried to keep you from the news. Didn’t want you to find out this—”

“Fuck you!” Honey roared, cutting him off. She jumped to her feet, her voice shattering like glass. For a moment, he thought she’d attack him. A lionness on the defense. He pictured her leaping onto his head and digging claws and fangs into his flesh. 

Hot tears spilled tracks of mascara down her cheeks. She vibrated with rage. She was a trembling, trashed, snotty mess and all she wanted was to inflict pain. “You killed them!” 

“I didn’t,” Peter quickly replied, keeping his voice calm. Slowly approached. He held his hands away from his body, inching closer towards her. “I didn’t, I swear—“

“I don’t believe you!”

“It was Kingpin,” Peter explained, placating in soothing tones. “I thought once I rescued you, he’d regroup. He didn’t. He sent his men to your shop the next morning. By the time we got there, it was too late—”

“Shut up!” she growled, tugging at her hair as she tried to cover her ears. “Shut up! Shut up! I don’t wanna hear it! I don’t care! You killed them! They didn’t do anything— they’re not a part of—you-you fucking did this! This is all your fault!”

“I know,” he whispered. His voice was thick with heartbreak. “I know.”

“You know?” she cried lividly. Her tone was sharp enough to amputate limbs. “You know?!” 

Her eyes were glowing with fury. He knew that look. The desperate, consuming sort of rage where all you want is hell on earth. 

“I know exactly who you are, Peter Parker!” She spat out each syllable like rotten fruit. Like poison. “You’re a goddamn curse!”

His lashes fluttered in the heat waves coming off of her. His jaw clenched.

“You’re a cancer! A fucking plague! You’ve destroyed my entire fucking life! Fucking monster! You’ve ruined everything!”

He stood still. Gazing down at her. Eyes soft. Mournful. Holy. She wanted to rip them from his skull. To gauge them out with her thumbs.

“What the fuck did I do to deserve you?” she hissed, frustrated by her inability to exact the violence she craved. Upset by the injustice she could not avenge. “Tell me—what did I do? Fucking asshole! You ruin everything you touch!”

Peter bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, keeping his face solemn and pliant. It wasn't lack of remorse. He simply refused to fight back. And it infuriated her further.

“You should be the one that they killed! Not them!” 

The faintest twitch ghosted across his face. He swallowed it up, pushing it down. She relished in the sight of his pain. 

It wasn’t enough. 

“I wish you were dead! You hear me? I wish you’d fucking burn! I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

It still wasn’t enough. 

She brought her hand up and struck him across the cheek. It made the inside of her palm sting. The burn flowed through her fingers and left a red mark, like rattlesnake venom poisoning his face. Her heart thrummed at the thought. 

She pulled her hand back. Took another shot. She felt confounding relief and agony at the sensation of her fingers slamming into his cheek. She tightened her palm into a fist. Did it again. And again, each blow landing heavier, taking more out of her.

She felt her fingernails slice through his skin, leaving a bloody red gash within his beard. Peter left his eyelids closed this time, as if lost in a dream somewhere. A nightmare. Absorbing the pain. Letting it sink into his bones. 

The sight of his blood just made her imagine the mutilated bodies of her friends. Innocent women. Now he bled, like them.

It wasn’t enough.

She brought her fist down again, but this time on his shoulder. She repeated with the other fist, hammering it down on his chest. Her lungs were burning, sweat beading at her brow. She beat on him like she was attempting to break down a door. Each swing drawing out her energy. Draining out her soul.

“It’s your fault, it’s your fault your fault your fault,” she repeated like a prayer until it was no more than a broken whimper. 

Fists sore, she could feel them already starting to bruise. Her biceps were on fire. Acid tears streaming down her cheeks.

Peter stood there. His face scratched up. Hair disheveled. His eyes glimmering with unshed tears. It was ridiculous of him, looking like some sort of innocent fawn. Watching her without judgment. Silently participating in the beating. It was offensive.

She was so furious she could barely breathe. Could barely stand. Until finally, she wasn’t. Her knees buckled beneath her. Threw her weight down through her arms, bringing both fists down in a final, exhausted blow.

Peter caught her before she fell. She collapsed in his arms and he slowly sank with her down to the floor. He held her like that. No more words were spoken between them. They both let each other just be.

A crude mirror-image of one another.

Continue to part 7

a/n - thank you so much to each of you that commented, sent me an ask, and big thank you to those of you that reblogged!

don't forget, to be tagged you must reblog so I can keep track of you!

#Lizzy writes. #Lizzy writes! sugar and vice #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker au #mob peter parker #mafia au #mob au #peter parker x oc #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker x oc #andrew garfield au #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #andrew garfield spiderman #andrew garfield x reader #peter parker andrew garfield #andrew garfield #the amazing spider man #the amazing spiderman #tasm au #tasm smut #tasm spiderman #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter smut #andrew garfield smut #slow burn #andrew peter parker #tasm fanfiction

[fillingthescrapbook]

Let's Talk About: Burrow's End, Evolution, and Revolution

Welcome back, Stupendous Stoats--for one last time! And because I have a bunch of stuff that I need to do and I'm just squeezing this in, this Let's Talk About is gonna be a stream of consciousness that I write while I'm watching.

Check it out, check it out, check it out--

The caution tape ribbon on Izzy's head with the very colorful attire is giving Jojo Siwa realness.

Now that we're in the finale, I just want to point out that Aabria went full Ed Sheeran on her outfit in the last five episodes. So I want to ask any amazing artist out there… Please draw Aabria's power plant uniform with Brennan's Dungeons and Drag Queens get-up a la the Beyonce and Sheeran meme.

Siobhan wants to go full Kevin McCallister!

"…and that we should murder Phoebe." It's not a surprise, but the way Brennan said this so intensely calm gave me such whiplash. In a good way. Mommy has so much blood lust.

Is Dr. Tara Steele planning a Happy Feet situation? Filming the talking stoats like those scientists filmed the dancing penguins?

This map is truly beautiful. Truly.

Yes, Viola! Yes, Rashawn!

BRING IN THE NEW MAP!

Are those three Breaking Bad action figures?

"Carlos! What have they done to you?"

"Well this is gonna be much more fun now." AABRIA!!!

You have to kill your babies, Brennan!

"I rolled better than a Nat 1--which is a 2."

"Does a 30 hit?" "What do you think?!" Sad sigh. Perfect.

Why did Brennan make Tula so powerful? Like, in another fight where he isn't fighting his own family, this would be great. But the situation is not that!

"Shoot at me!" "I'll take the shot." "Shit."

"Don't hit it with fire! Don't hit it with water!" Aabria turned into Lucas!

"Lair action." "It's okay." "What?" "You don't have to." That was the best reaction to a DM's shenanigan.

What I want to know right now-- Is Tara's hazmat suit still broken? Because there's a lot of radiation here.

"Are you okay?" "No!!!" This is the most engaging 5e battle in Dimension 20 history outside of A Starstruck Odyssey.

"He'll cook in 40 minutes!"

Aabria has just learned the lesson Brennan had learned from giving Ally Beardsley's shenanigans a chance. If you say yes, the dice gods will give your player a Nat 20.

We did get a Happy Feet ending! This is an amazing ending! I still want a longer Aabria season on Dimension 20 though.

That said--this very lovely epilogue juxtaposed with that horrifying maxi of Phoebe-backer is also a perfect representation of Burrow's End. Although… Wait… Did we get an epilogue for Thorne? I'll have to rewatch this episode at some point. I have to dash now.

Oh, but one last thing: Brennan's "I can't wait to find out what's going to happen tomorrow" hits very differently for me, right now.

#burrow's end #dimension 20 #d20 spoilers #aabria iyengar #brennan lee mulligan #siobhan thompson #rashawn scott #jasper william cartwright #erika ishii #izzy roland

[jamesunderwater]

@jilymicrofics - sept. 18th: thaw - words: 834 - cw: mental illness, self-harm

Storms

The vegetables were disappearing in the blur of her tears, but she didn’t care. Thwunk, thwunk, twunk. The knife kept coming down, and each time she thought, it’s going to be my finger this time Thwunk this time Thwunk this time Thwunk. 

“Lily!” His voice did nothing to disrupt her rhythm. This time - thwunk, this time - thwunk. Though in the back of her mind, she did picture him calling out to her from the top of a lighthouse, while her boat kept steering right for the rocks below him. She knew this was how he saw her. But James wasn’t on the boat; he couldn’t see that it was sinking, anyway.

She still hadn’t blinked the tears away when he grabbed her wrist, pulling the knife from her grasp. “You weren’t even looking, Lils! Please.” The desperation in his voice was heartbreaking, stabbed through her like the knife should have. Lily blinked.

Her husband (husband, husband, husband, husband, she rolled the word around in her mind like a piece of sweet, forbidden chocolate) with his wild hair, his skewed glasses, his stained night shirt, made unrecognizable by the stiff flat stretch of his mouth, the lines of worry sliced between his eyebrows. She wondered if he thought she looked unrecognizable, too.

“If you need me to help you with something, just ask! What are you even doing, dicing vegetables in the middle of the night?” James put the knife in the sink and pulled the cutting board away from her, already starting to package up her work before she could even tell him what it was for.

Lily would have answered him a few weeks ago, would have told him the whole thing in one breath. I was staring at the ceiling fan go round and round hoping it would make me tired, and then I tried to time my breaths with two rotations of the fan, and then I was counting my breaths, and I got up to 33 but then my foot itched so I tried to itch it with the bedsheet slowly enough that it wouldn’t wake you, but that made me lose count on my breaths and then I couldn’t get the blasted itching to stop and then I swear, James, I swear it started crawling up my leg, the itch did, it was coming after me, I just knew it, so I had to get out of bed, you know, to get away from it, and I did manage to slip out quietly, without waking you, I was proud of that, but then the itching leapt from my foot to my hand so I scratched and I scratched but I was so scared that nothing was going to stop it so I thought, I’ve got to do something with my hands, I’ve got to do something that would scare the itch away. So I thought, stew. James will wake to a proper pot of stew and the itch will leave and it will have been a good night in the end, and it worked, you know, chopping a bit carelessly, threatening the itch like that, it disappeared altogether.…I can’t tell you why that made me cry, though. I just felt so lonely, once it left.

Instead she said, “I don’t know,” and chewed her lip, because she’d learned it was much easier to be looked at with sadness than alarm. 

A tupperware lid snapped closed with a pop! She bit down her lip to draw blood and sucked hard, waiting for him to turn around. Why had she scared the itch off? It only wanted to be near her. “I wanted to make stew.” 

James turned away from the tupperware and met her eyes. His were so heavy - too heavy for twenty-one, just a boy playing lighthouse keeper without any experience with storms. The old Lily inside of her wailed at the sight of him. She sobbed so loudly her temples throbbed with the pressure of it. She banged against the glass walls in her mind, crying, Look at his eyes, he’s crumbling! I have to hold him, I have to... I have to get out of here. I am going to die if I can’t touch him, please! I have to get out of here. How do I get out of here? As if she could manifest it into reality, she pictured reaching out to take his head in her hands, his arms pulling her into him with the desperation of a first breath after nearly drowning, and with these simple touches, everything healed. 

Lily thought it was almost funny he was so worried about the knife, when it was these vestiges of her old self that would likely kill her in the end.

“Stew?” James had righted himself, burying whatever had been in his eyes before. Crumbling like a poorly built house in an earthquake. Her husband, so young and foolish, believing he could withstand her destruction. “Sure, yeah. Let’s get the roast out to thaw.”

#well. uh. honey i'm home? hope you missed angst #jily #jily* #jily microfic #jily angst #jily fanfic #jily fanfiction #jily fic #jple #jple fic #jple fanfiction #james potter #lily evans #the marauders #the marauders era #lily evans potter #tw: mental illness #cw: mental illness #hp

[steddie-there]

Steve's got his hands on his hips, a scowl on his face, and Eddie's leaning in the door to the kitchen, arms crossed tight over his chest and glare directed at the table. The table with a neat stack of notebooks and pile of dice and clump of miniatures all standing in rows. The table where, yesterday, he had notebooks spread open, drawings and notes for different campaign ideas paired with miniatures and sets of dice, visual cues for the plans and stories.

"I just don't get why you're so upset," Steve bitches. "All I did was clean!"

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I'm upset because now I can't find any of my shit." It's a lot more growly than he intends, but it also sounds how he feels so he rolls with it.

Thump

"Not exactly sure how you could find any of it before," Steve gripes, ignoring the thumping noise from the living room. "Our table looked like a bomb had been dropped on it."

Thump

Steve ignored the thumping sound, so Eddie does, too, even though it's gotten closer and louder. "Oh, well excuuuuse me for having a system," he says, flinging his arms out, his volume increasing by the second. "I knew where everything was and how it all went together. Now I have to figure it all out again. You think you'd relate, the way the bathroom looks. But you don't see me moving your hair shit around, do you? So this? This was bullshit."

THUMP

Steve's eyes widen and he jerks back and Eddie knows he shouldn't have used that word, he knows, but he's just pissed enough not to care.

"Oh, that's bullshit? Really? You know what's actually bullshit? There was trash in that pile, Eddie. Literal, actual trash. On our kitchen table. And you couldn't be bothered to clean it up, so I did." And now Steve's tone has moved out of bitchy territory into something scathing, something a lot like actual anger, matching Eddie's volume.

It makes Eddie's hands start to shake, makes Steve's breath hitch in his throat because, sure, they've fought before, a little, sniping back and forth about something petty, but it's never been like this. Never to the point of actual yelling. This is starting to feel big and loud in a way their fights never have, and now there's fear laced through the anger, but it doesn't help, only makes everything worse and

THUMPTHUMPTHUMP

This time the thumping is right next to them and they can't ignore it and, in tandem, look down to the floor between them just in time to see Paul thump his back foot again and stare at them with an expression that, if there was just a little less tension between them right now, Eddie would laughingly tell Steve looks exactly like his bitchy babysitter face.

They glance back at each other, then down to their rabbit again, who thumps his foot once more, still glaring up at them

"...I guess someone doesn't like that we're fighting," Eddie says, arms still tight across his chest.

"Yeah," Steve huffs. There's a beat of silence. Then he sighs, his shoulders lowering, running a hand through his hair. "I don't like it, either." His voice is barely more than a whisper.

Eddie bites his lip, dropping his arms a little. "Same," he admits, voice just as soft.

They stand there for a minute, the quiet ringing between them, all the fight draining from their bodies, before Steve steps closer, plucks at the hem of Eddie's shirt, as if he wants to touch but isn't sure it would be welcome.

"I'm sorry, Eds. I shouldn't have moved your things. I was frustrated with the food wrappers and cans on the table and instead of talking to you, I just got mad. You're right, I should understand. The bathroom sink is always a mess, but everything is right where I want it, and you never touch any of it but if you did I'd probably -"

"Hey," Eddie interrupts, gentle, tucking a strand of hair behind Steve's ear, cupping his cheek. "I'm sorry, too. I let it build up really badly and I shouldn't be leaving trash out like that."

Steve leans into the touch with a soft sound, lets his hands rise to circle Eddie's waist, leans their foreheads together. "Still. I should have talked to you."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, but presses a kiss to Steve's forehead because they're talking now and it's gonna be okay and now they know a little bit more. And he wraps his arms tight around Steve's back, tugs him in close.

"I promise I won't move your things anymore. I'll clean around them. And I'll talk to you if something frustrates me," Steve says into Eddie's neck, nuzzling his face into the warmth there, his arms sliding around Eddie's waist.

Eddie tucks a hand into Steve's hair, runs the strands through his fingers. "And I'll be better about throwing the wrappers and cans away so it doesn't get so bad in the first place."

For a long moment, they simply stand, wrapped up in each other, in soft hands and gentle kisses and forgiveness. Then a thought occurs to Eddie and he pulls back just far enough to peer down at Paul, who is now happily flopped against their feet.

"Hey, Stevie... did our rabbit just bully us into communicating like actual adults?"

"...I think he did, yeah," he giggles and after everything, all Eddie wants is to taste Steve's laughter, to feel it in his own mouth, so he leans in for a kiss, grins against Steve's lips.

"Guess we're lucky he's such a smart little bastard, then," he smirks, never more grateful for that day at the petshop than he is right now as they swallow each other's laughter like water after a drought.

---

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6, Part 7

ao3: And Rabbit Makes Three

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #paul the rabbit #my fic #my rabbit has never done the whole thumping thing (probably because i spoil him rotten so he never gets mad enough at me to thump 😅) #but paul absolutely does #he wants attention from both his dads and when they argue he doesnt get his cuddle time #so thumping it is until they get their act together so he can get his pets #also steve isnt exactly a neat freak but he doesnt put up with things being dirty #and eddie doesnt mean to be messy but he gets caught up in what hes doing and just sets things down and forgets about them

[chaos-is-beautifvl]

𝐢 𝐬𝐩𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞...

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eddie munson x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you think your “tiny” crush on one d&d-playing, ring-wearing, poodle-rivaling brunet goes unnoticed until you’re confronted in a pizzeria of all places

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠: fluff, cursing (possible overuse of ‘shit’), excessive and shameless but respectful staring lol, dustin being a good wingman (wingboy? idk), mike being a little shit, & mentions of weed

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3370

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: didn’t think i’d be joining the eddie munson band wagon but he and joseph quinn have stolen my heart & won’t give it back || i just finished vol. 2 … i am not okay 😀 i hope you enjoy & feedback is golden so let me know what you think! feel free to send me a request, guidelines here

buy me a coffee ☕️!

Eddie is different. And not because of his long hair with fluffy curls that could rival a poodle. Not because of his affinity for using his hands to make devil horns in that same poodle-rivaling hair. Not because he likes D&D, smokes weed, or does any of the other bullshit people find a reason to dislike.

Eddie is just different. But in the best way possible.

Like Steve, you had been roped in as mother hen number two, caring for the little troublemakers. It was comical how often they came looking to you for help when the other mother pawned them off on you, dubbing it “your weekend”.

It didn’t bother you. Like at all. In fact, you were more than comfortable with playing house. You would like to say that it’s because you have nothing else to do, but that is only partially true. There are a million and one other things you could be doing than waiting to catch a glimpse of Eddie “the freak” Munson.

And, yeah, maybe you are paying too much attention to someone who has hardly shown you interest; but life is short. Why not spend your time ogling?

You ogle discreetly - you never stare for longer than three seconds. Also, you always try your hardest to stay engaged in the ongoing conversation to not draw unwanted attention. While it may be a bit much, the plan is yours, and well, it works.

At least, it usually did. You blame the kids. The day had been chock-full of taking the little gremlins two towns over to get their sticky paws on the latest version of a video game, which resulted in your car breaking down. Then you had to get it towed and blah, blah, blah. Needless to say, your day had not exactly gone to plan.

Your day was a bit stressful, and who wants to feel stressed? Certainly not you. So, to feel better, you do what you have to. And it does its job. You decide to allow yourself more than three seconds to stare respectfully. What? You still have manners.

Staring at Eddie is like going to an art museum. You stare at the art because it captivates you, right? In your defense, Eddie Munson had captivated your attention on more than one occasion.

The thunking of the dice rolling on the table was followed by a collective groan. The frustration gave you the perfect opportunity to look back at Eddie. His head was tilted back in a hearty laugh as what he previously predicted came to bite the group in their asses. You wanted to feel bad for the kids, but he did warn them, so whatever happened was their fault. 

You were too busy window shopping to hear the repeated calls of your name. You pulled yourself out of your daydreaming, noticing Eddie staring at you. Wait... Not just staring at you. Eddie was staring at you, staring at him.

You quickly turned your gaze away from his brown eyes, praying to whatever higher power was out there he hadn’t seen you ogling him the entire time. Clearing your throat, you turned to Dustin, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Uhh, nothing.” The words came out way too fast, and you furrowed your eyebrows. Obviously, nothing meant there was something.

“Okay...” You felt your eyes drifting over to the brunet, poodle-rivaling D&D player. Before you could embarrass yourself any further, you stood up, the scraping of your chair against the floor directing all attention to you. Yeah, not really the effect you were going for.

“You guys hungry?” Simple. Effective. Mom hen-ish.

The group sang choruses of yes and omg, I’m starving. So, naturally, you were spared humiliation when you took a vote and landed on pizza. They were nearing the end of their campaign, and you knew they would be both hungry and tired afterward.

Just before you made it out the door, Mike called you back. You sighed, hoping he wasn’t trying to change the pizza order. What he said instead took you by surprise. “How are you gonna get there? I mean, your car is toast - like burnt toast. Like really burnt."

You narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to roll them. Why did he feel the impending need to remind you of the hot shit you were already wading through? Michael Wheeler, everybody! The kid who gives no fucks!

“I can just get it,” Eddie suggested, leaning forward with elbows resting on the table. His hair was released from its ponytail - if it could even be considered one with its looseness. You found yourself staring a bit too long, directing your attention back to his face, where you discovered a cocked brow and tiny smirk tugging at his lips.

“Or!” Dustin shrugged, tilting his head back and forth. “You could just go together.” He sent a slightly sympathetic look to his older friend, “No offense, Eds, but you’re pretty shit at remembering things. Besides, who is gonna help you with all those boxes?” Dustin did an enthusiastic drum roll on the table, smiling, “Y/N! She’s pretty strong.”

-

You were trying to be strong; you really were. The ride into town was awkward, putting it mildly. You realized that it may have seemed rude to have your entire body facing the door and not to say a word, but being in a tight space, so close, you were trying your hardest not to stare.

Once the pizza place came into view, you quickly hopped out of the van as soon as he unlocked the doors. Your feet dragged you over to the entrance before you could stop them, and you felt bad when he reached over and held the door open for you.

You muttered a small thanks. Any more words, you would probably have exposed your silly little crush. 

It was mostly empty, and you took your time staring at the posters and writings on the walls, attempting to not stare at the one thing (or one person, to be exact) you should not be looking at.

But eventually, like they usually did, your eyes wandered over, and you found yourself staring at Eddie again. It was beginning to become a problem at this point. And that was further proven when he started talking.

“Hey, Paul, how ya doing? So we’ll get two...” Eddie squinted his eyes, tapping the counter with his fingers as if that would speed up the recollection process.

You snapped out of your stupor and stepped forward. “Hi, could you get us four pepperoni pizzas and one supreme?”

“Right.” Eddie clasped his hands together, nodding like he was the one who remembered, not you. “Four pepperonis and one supreme. Right, right, right.”

Paul jotted it down on his tiny notepad. Not looking up, he mumbled the price, and Eddie stopped you when you went to pull out your wallet.

Leaning on the counter with his elbows and hair sweeping over his shoulders, he flashed a grin at the boy. “Paul, my man, you remember that time you got some-” 

The brunet glanced at you, “substances... a.k.a. weed from me." Eddie coughed, whispering the words out. “And, you didn’t pay because your mom took away your allowance since you wouldn’t clean your room? Remember how I let it slide?”

Paul looked around the pizzeria nervously, hoping no one was listening. Once the coast was clear, he nodded, swallowing.

“Yeah, well, now is the time to pay. Soooo,” Eddie tapped his fingers on the counter as he straightened. “We’re gonna get these pizzas on the house, and you don’t have to worry ‘bout paying me back. Cool with you? Great! Go get ‘em, bud.” He patted Paul on the shoulder, sending him scurrying away to the back.

You watched the entire exchange with wide eyes. There was something so wildly attractive about Eddie taking charge, even if he couldn’t remember a simple pizza order. You thanked him quietly, again sure that if you said another word, it would be your inevitable downfall.

A silence settled over the two of you. Continuing to stare at the art on the walls and the work of art standing right next to you, you tried to recollect yourself. Though Eddie was probably a gift from whatever higher power was out there, your obsession was getting out of hand.

Sure, he might be nice to look at, but you weren’t some middle schooler who just figured out what crushes were and how exciting they could be. You were older and more rational and-

Before your affirmations could take off, a voice pulled you back to the present. You turned to see Eddie facing you. He chuckled softly, noticing that you weren’t paying attention to a word. You were stuck up in your head somewhere.

“Sorry, what?” You felt sheepish. Not only had you repeatedly stared at him like he was on display with you watching through the window to see if you wanted to try him on, but he had caught you doing so. Your zoning out and ignoring him was the cherry on the insurmountable pile of shit you were digging your way out of. If there was even a tiny chance in hell that Eddie was interested in you, it was now flushed down the drain for how rude you have been. 

“I said, do you wanna sit down? Probably be a while till Paulie boy is done, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to stand the entire time.” He shrugged, “Or, maybe you do. Who knows?”

“No, sitting sounds good.”

It wasn’t. The first couple of minutes were treacherously slow. Maybe your communication skills were terrible or maybe your eyes couldn’t stop staring at the tiles on the floor. Either way, the silent thing was not working, and you honestly felt so bad that Eddie had to put up with you.

Apparently, Eddie was as discontent with the awkward silence as you were. After humming and tapping his fingers on the table to a song oddly resembling Cherry Bomb by The Runaways, he leaned forward.

“Let’s play a game.”

A what? “Huh...” was your dumb reply. In your defense, you were still stuck on him knowing that song. Doesn’t he only listen to metal? At least, that’s what you heard during your stalking hours, which are anytime you two were in the same vicinity.

His laugh caught you off guard, but in a pleasant way. “God, you really are in your head a lot, aren’t you?” Warmth rushed to your face, and you suddenly felt like he had placed a spotlight directly on you.

“I- uh- I’m not-” You are so embarrassing. That thought was followed with a mental facepalm because what the hell were you saying.

“I’m sorry. That must be pretty annoying. What game did you have in mind?” Good, there you go. Normal speaking like a normal human.

Eddie watched you with interest, rolling his lips so the amusement begging to show would remain hidden. Ignoring the laughter bubbling in his throat, he made a circle with his hand and put it to his eye.

“Let’s play I Spy...”

You stared blankly for a few seconds, letting it marinate. Eddie was humming a song suspiciously similar to something you would have never guessed the brunet to be into. He also wanted to play a game. With a tilt of your head, you expressed your bamboozlement.

“What?”

“Oh, okay. You don’t know- Basically, the way the game works is someone finds something and-“

You held up a hand, halting his speaking as you chuckled. “I know what I Spy... is, Eddie. I just- You actually wanna play that? Or are you, I don’t know, just trying to fill the silence?”

He stared at you quizzically, and you figured you had said too much until he shook his head. 

“Nope, I wanna play. So, you in, daydreamer?”

“Sure.” Why not? What could possibly go wrong? 

And the game began. First, it was small things like something black and white. The floor tiles. Or something red. That one took Eddie a second because the two of you were in a pizza place where almost everything was red. But it was the jukebox collecting dust in the corner.

Then, things took a turn for the worst. Well, correction, they weren’t that bad (only slightly), but boy, did they take you by surprise. 

Eddie was next, and you were a bit nervous as he had given you surprisingly difficult, specific things to find. His brown eyes looked around the pizzeria before they landed on you, accompanied by a mischievous glint and a conspiratorial grin.

“I spy...” Eddie paused for dramatic effect, putting you on the edge of your seat, “with my little eye...”The brunet winked at you, and you mentally cursed whatever higher power created him. One simple gesture had you wishing you could stop window shopping, go into that metaphorical store, and take him home.

“A person.”

...

Is he serious?

��Wearing black.”

Is he talking about himself or...?

“Who is always stuck in their head.”

That’s oddly specific.

“And...” His grin morphed into a smirk as he squinted his eyes at you. You doubt he realized he was enunciating the purpose of the game. “Andddd is a little stalker.”

Can you guess who he’s talking about? Ding, ding, ding. You! We have a winner! Or maybe, this isn’t as much of a win, considering your crush (ahem, obsession) was just exposed.

“I can totally explain-” Could I, though? “I am so sorry.” That was partially true. You felt bad but who wouldn’t want to stare at Eddie Munson. “God, you must think I’m such a creep.”

Your worried rambling was cut short by the most angelic sound - Eddie’s laughing. You wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole. He was laughing at you. Laughing. You swear you have never felt as embarrassed in all your years.

“I think I’m just gonna go...”

Wait, how am I going to get home? Walk? Nah, too far. Hitchhike? Too dangerous. I’ve seen enough TV and newspapers warning against that to try it myself. I may be obsessive, but I’m not stupid. Wait, maybe I could-

Eddie covered his mouth, attempting to hide his laughter behind his hand. He shook his head, his face tinting red as he composed himself. “No, no. You’re- God-” He started laughing again. “You’re just, uh- it’s kinda cute, you know?”

Cute...?

He interrupted before you could ask what exactly that meant. “You probably think you’re pretty discreet, right?” Well, you did at first. But now, it was obvious that you had not been. “It’s just- it’s kinda obvious. Like the whole looking, then looking away, and the whole daydreaming thing.”

Oh. Were you really that obvious?

“C’mon, don’t be so embarrassed.” Eddie peeled your palms off your face. You looked up to see a wondrous sight. His face was reddened from all the laughing, and a wide grin had broken through the surface.

“Don’t be-” You pulled your hands away, pouting as you slumped in your seat. “Of course, I’m embarrassed, Eddie. You weren’t supposed to find out.”

This was torture.

“So, if I hadn’t called you out on it, you would keep doing it?” He caught you there.

“Well- um...” There was no way for redemption, so you shut your mouth. It was bad enough that he’d caught you, and you definitely didn’t want to make the situation even worse because your mouth wouldn’t stop moving.

Eddie watched your internal battle with an overly amused interest. Had the situation been different, you probably would have given him a piece of your mind. Instead, you sat in your seat, brows furrowed and lip jutting out as you tried to alleviate the sticky mess you found yourself in. 

“Look, Eddie, I’m sorry, really.” You took in a breath, “I completely understand why you might be creeped out and-”

“Hold on, wait.”

You stopped talking, finally turning to look at him. And, no, not like that. You were too embarrassed to enjoy the view. 

“You don’t think I’m actually mad, do you?" Your silence elicited an incredulous look from the brunet. “Do you?” A halfhearted shrug was your reply.

Sensing your embarrassment, Eddie stifled his laughing for real this time, ducking his head to look at you. All your previous thoughts about not being a crush-obsessed middle schooler were flushed down the clogged drain of your problems. It was silly, but you wanted to cry at how embarrassed and, quite frankly, mortified you felt. 

“Hey... you know I’m just messing around, right?” He scoffed, “Hell, I’m an attention whore so all your staring is going straight to my big ego. Do you realize that?”

A soft chuckle and a shake of your head made Eddie smile. “No, really. I’ve just been soaking it up. I’m a real glutton for praise, but hey, maybe next time, you should ask me out before undressing me with your eyes.”

You gawked at him, finally meeting his gaze. While you weren’t expecting him to be okay with it, it was an even bigger shock for him to say that.

It seemed that the gods or whoever was out there decided to end your misery. Or, they were sick and tired of you embarrassing yourself. Either way, Paul set the pizzas on the counter, calling the two of you over. 

“Oh, would you look at that? Our pizzas are done. I’m gonna go get them...” You mumbled out the last couple of words as you hurried to the counter like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Eddie watched in astonishment and amusement as you somehow bundled up all five pizza boxes in your arms, kicking the door open with your foot.

Dustin wasn’t kidding about you being pretty strong. Not that five pizza boxes are a whole lot. But still, Eddie was impressed.

He turned to Paul, who was wearing a similar look. “She’s pretty cool, huh?”

Paul could only nod, rubbing the back of his neck. Before the boy went to answer the ringing phone, he muttered and shook his head, “They make an odd couple.”

-

The two of you made it back, Eddie carrying most of the boxes (which he said was part of him making up for the immense teasing). You weren’t as discreet with your staring now. Why would you be? The cat was out of the bag, and you had a pending date with the person who opened it.

Dustin, who sported a shit-eating grin, remarked how Eddie could drive you around until your car was fixed. You realized that the little shit had orchestrated the whole thing. Not the car breaking down, but you and Eddie going together. You weren’t complaining, though.

A week or so later and the date came. When Eddie picked you up, you asked if you could play some music. In the glovebox where he kept all his cassettes and CDs was a mixtape with a song you knew all too well.

If you couldn’t guess, it was Cherry Bomb by the Runaways. Yeah, you aren’t letting that one go anytime soon.

#this is my year for new characters #chaos-is-beautifvl #chaos.writes 🖋 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader

[incorrectklavekatz]

The crows as cards cause I’m bored and why not, as usual my asks are open and I’m always happy to answer!!! Possible ROW and CK spoilers??? Obviously SOC spoilers

Kaz: king of clubs, symbolises strength, power and determination, his ambition towards taking down Rollins, and his effectiveness in doing so, as well as his power by the time ROW occurs in him having two people on the merchant council, the queen of fjerda and the wraith on the seas, in play can be useful, but in most cases doesn’t do much if the rest of the hand is shit, he needs his crows

Inej: Queen of spades, I was going to make her and Kaz match but I’d rather give her an individual one, symbolises intelligence, practical and intellectual, plans ahead of time, inej is always the one in the crows to provide insight to their issues, no matter how cryptic it may be at times, and she shows her ability to understand the consequences of all of their actions better than the other crows several times, in play a black queen can change the game if not countered by a red one

Nina: queen of hearts, pretty obvious as it is, heartrender, queen of fjerda, symbolises a powerful woman who is commanding and has a strong presence yet is compassionate, caring and protective of those she loves, her taking the parem to save the others in coming out of the ice court, as well as generally just being there for the crows in their times of need while still being a very independent and strong female character, in play can be incredibly useful for saving a hand

Matthias: king of hearts, symbolises honesty and spirituality, obviously spirituality to djel and his honesty about changing who he was to be a better man, and admitting that what he did was wrong along with coming to terms with how he was raised and how that effected him and how he treats others, also symbolises a kind gentle man, which he became because of Nina, sparing the boy who shot him, in play again not very useful unless the rest of the hand is good

Wylan: Ace of diamonds, symbolises a financial increase and can indicate a message from a new lover, his claiming of his inheritance from his father, and Jespers role in helping him achieve and maintain that inheritance with reading to him, in play can change the stakes of the game and is very fluid compared to other cards in what it can do, as well as changing the suit to how it sees fit regardless of the suit being played, changing to look like kuwei, asking to be beaten up further for dramatic effect etc

Jesper: Jack of Diamonds, symbolises youth, energy and potential, “maybe he was a bullet in a chamber, waiting to be given direction”, it can also symbolise future financial instability, his gambling, and can be used to represent an unfaithful employee, when he accidentally ratted them out to the dime lions, in play isn’t extremely helpful and generally can benefit the person before the player more than the player themselves, heavily depends on the other cards in the hand, much like how Jesper often puts trying not to disappoint others above his own general well-being and mental health

+ Bonus kuwei: ace of spades, mirrors Wylan, symbolises death, darkness and mystery, parem causing death, hiding in the tomb, nobody really knowing much about him, but can also represent new beginnings, fresh starts and rebirth, moving to Ravka and changing his name to fix his fathers mistakes, arguably one of the most important cards in play, can change the game entirely based on its high place on the list of outcomes on rolling the dice or drawing from a deck of cards chance, can also symbolise power, luck and triumph, whoever was ‘in possession’ of kuwei was winning the game

If anybody has any other opinions on this please let me know!! Also I am aware that technically they have all already been assigned cards in the collectors edition art for crooked kingdom but these are my own takes, might do an analysis post on their cards assigned in the official art if anybody is interested <333 also will do any other characters in the SOC duology and maybe some from the SAB trilogy if asked!!!

#I haven’t played card games much recently so if my analysis on how they work in play is off #ignore me #my cards and dice have been confiscated #jesper fahey #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #wylan hendricks #matthias helvar #nina zenik #kuwei yul bo #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone #kanej #helnik #wesper #incorrect klave talks

[ratwavegamehouse]

Terminal and the Inspirations from Other Places

Around the start of the month I did a big post on Terminal and how the Matrix inspired it as well as generally espounding on my thoughts around influence, pastiche, and analogues. I found it interesting, and some people enjoyed reading it, so I figured I'd do a post on all the other things that inspired Terminal.

Ok, almost definitely not covering all the other things. But some of them. The big ones maybe. Or the thing that are easiest for me to explain.

(This will also involve previewing some of the full game. Any art in this post is by Gormengeist and any completed layout was done by me, while any text will have been written by me and edited by Alyssa.)

Let's start of by sharing the Inspirations and Influences pages from the book itself.

Some of these will only probably ever make sense to me, and that's fine, that's how creating things goes. I won't go linearly, I guess I'll go in order of what seems important. At least to start, I'll probably end up following some whims.

Black Sails/Treasure Island

I think this is something I got asked on both The Weekly Scroll, by Zach on This is Your Lifepath, and also just by people. "Why'd you add pirates?"

I actually tried looking through some notepads where I first jotted down ideas to see if I recorded my actual thought process as it happened. No dice. "Zion as Pirates" is one of the earliest notes I have.

I think my early logic was about avoiding just doing a complete 1-2-1 of how reality was in the Matrix. First this just started as "I don't wanna do the sun blocked out thing and the energy stuff" and I think that evolved into the shattered moon and flooded Earth which made arriving at pirates logical; sailing the seas rather than jetting around underground tunnels.

It was in righting and exploring these early ideas I found a resonance with pirates that made me excited to make that such a core part of the book; themes about rejecting society and civilization, loyalty among a crew, the idea of being an outlaw, the Robot Authority as the British Navy.

Being honest the line I often used of "The Matrix x Black Sails" was more using Black Sails as a touchstone to convey an idea, rather than crediting for my conception of pirates. It speaks to a pirate epic and the focus on pirates creating a home.

Libertatia was down as the placeholder name "Pirate Island" for much longer than you'd expect (I think I had some crews written at this time but nothing about the setting). Someone suggested the name when I asked for ideas and doing some research the pirate legend ended up informing the development of the setting. Libertatia is implicitly anarcho-communist rather than the more heirachy based structure of Zion seen in the Matrix films.

I also like how this created such a different relationship with your home setting that the one in Inevitable, the books system influence which focuses on protecting a kingdom. In Inevitable you are given quests by your king, or more often the king's advisors, and you're an agent of a crumbling monarchy. In Terminal people suggest things that someone should deal with but none of the NPCs have any authority or ability to command your characters, you have to choose to listen to them.

Twin Peaks/Lost Highway/Blue Velvet

I'll go to this next as it was the third influence that got shouted out in articles. The answer to "why" Lynch was such an influence is basically that I'm a fan and so his work is on my mind frequently enough that it's a common influence.

The sort of eery dream-logic is part of the influence, though that also draws from lots of other things. I notice dream logic or living dreams are a recurrent theme in a lot of my work, which is interesting for someone who never remembers any dreams. The way your dreams are walked through by sinister forces was definitely aping some of Fire Walk with Me.

The inclusion of doppelgangers, of yourself, of people you love, people who loved you, that's coming from the Return for sure. It's also hitting a theme of embracing your own imperfections and messiness as some of these antagonist doppelgangers are explicitly versions built around expectations characters couldn't or wouldn't live up to.

The Puppeteer, a villainous program who strives to manipulate people emotions to inflict psychological torture, has some of the Mystery Man from Lost Highway in him as well as the Man from Another Place's desire for armonbozia" (pain and sorrow). The fact that The Seer, our prophetic program who serves as a tense pirate ally, is always met on a lost highway is more in the realm of a reference.

The Crash, the name for Terminal's major story arcs, Tortures of the Killer combines a lot of Lynch influence. The Killer has influences from Frank from Blue Velvet and BOB from Twin Peaks though without the sexual violence being a major aspect of the character, instead the Killer's focus is in blackmail and threats. The video tape element draws from Lost Highway while the setting of that scenario draws on Blue Velvet as well.

A pair of linked characters, The Arm and someone more mysterious, are another thing more in the realm of reference rather than attempted analogue. I think the big influence for those characters is my own interest in the ideas of partitioning off aspects of yourself, and then having to deal with those aspects brought to life, because of some of my personal experience.

Paprika

Paprika was the fourth big influence I explicitly shouted out in marketing. This relates to the dream hopping element.

In Terminal freeing someone from the simulation involves delving into their dreams and guiding them to a door they must open to wake themselves up. The reason I came up with this was that basically because of how the red pill/blue pill symbolism got used after the release of the Matrix I felt I needed to avoid anything to close to that. Dream delving came to me probably because of my aforementioned fixation on dreams in fiction, and also the way that distinction between dreaming and waking is so blurred in Neo's early life.

It also put me in the mind of Paprika, which in turn influenced the Crash The Dying Dream, specifically the Dream Parade influenced a lot of how that developed. I think following a whim I'll do a section on all the stuff that ended up combo-ing to form this Crash, cause it's maybe an interesting insight into how I wrote.

The Dying Dream

My memory isn't super exact but I recall the early writing process in Terminal, once the big central idea and themes were sketched out, involved some jotted down ideas for Crashes and then I ended up writing a big list of characters. I think I wrote a document of routine programs, a document of obsolete programs, a document of Robot Authority characters, a document of Special Agents (at that time called officers) and a document of pirates. I think with some characters written I began combining them with Crash ideas that i started writing in full.

There was a lot of jumping around. This wasn't an linear process at all. There were some ideas for Crashes that could quashed and then ended up creating other parts of the story (initially finding the Omen was a Crash and they were going to be an NPC, quashing that Crash came with jumping to writing the stuff about characters becoming Omen, together). I interrupted this to properly sketch out Libertatia and with that came a lot of new pirates. I think there's a chance the Hedonist has an associated Crash at some point before I decided I liked her better as an a sort-of-not-really ally.

Anyway when I wrote the Special Agents I had a few ideas; a "standard" agent who exposed the ways other deviated, a agent deliberately created as a woman to poke at gender-based hang-ups some characters could have, 0 our agent-turned-malware and then a pair of agents; one who'd been corrupted and deleted and their partner who's reaction to this was question everything they thought they knew.

(The reason I initially named the Special Agents Officers was to make them seem a little further away from the Matrix agents, but once I decided on this angle with a character questioning their role I enjoyed the wordplay in fact that the agents lack agency so renamed them.)

So I had this pair but no idea what Crash they'd end up in. The Archivist was an early Crash, the idea for Multipled by 0 came early on, "hacked pirates" was the note that lead Corruptions of The Passenger. But I was a little stuck on Crashes full stop and none of them served as a home for these two agents, and I wanted these two in the book.

I ended up thinking about Inevitable and what purpose the story arcs, called Dooms there, played. The Tower Wizards Doom takes your cadre into the dangerous Wizard's Bluff to retrieve a dangerous artefact that's crash landed there. I tried to think of what a Crash could look like where the threat wasn't a specific character but a situation.

This brought me to the Dream Parade from Paprika and so I settled on a dying dreamer's nightmares corrupting a domain. The corrupted agent I had in my notes (Special Agent 7) got changed to have been corrupted by this situation and their partner (Special Agent 5) had a place as a possible obstruction, ally, or strange encounter.

Figuring out what the artefact at the centre of the Dying Dream was was part of what lead to Transmit, the last Omen, emerging as such a major character (the other thing that contributed to this was the need for the Omen code to have been modified) and that lead to a hidden story arc in the book that reflects some of the core themes about the power of positive connection being able to save you from people who want to control you and make you feel crazy.

Some Smaller Inlfuences, Explained as Well as I Can

The Wizard of Oz is on the list partly for doppelgangers, but also partly for the way its influence is felt in The Matrix and David Lynch's work (hence Lynch/Oz, the video essay film, being included). It's also there because the character of The Wizard, an obsolete program with the power of recognition, the ability to see what's already there, is an extended Wizard of Oz joke.

Inception is there because of dream hopping, even though my version of dreams is much more Paprika than Inception.

Stuff like Fallen Angels, Taxi Driver, and Fight Club are there for a mood that I was channelling in writing at certain points. I find making these lists interesting, when I do them, because I could restrict to to the obvious, explainable stuff, but personally I like including things where my only explanation was "I was thinking of it while writing and maybe that bled in".

Pacific Rim is there because the description of drift compatibility and the neural handshake influenced the way I described becoming the Omen and connecting your hearts to share the code. (I do find it interesting which things I knew were influencing me as i was writing - Matrix, Twin Peaks, Paprika, etc - vs things I only really noticed after the fact like this Pacific Rim influence).

I mentioned in the Matrix influences post that The Hedonist was partly influenced by Carrie Ann Moss's character in Mass Effect 2. That's part of why that's on the list. The other thing is that the eventual way I settled on travel (a map for the Wake with various mind docks that you travel to via sea and then plug you into different domains) was partly influenced by the way the overworld space travel worked in the game.

Transistor influenced depictions of certain places; the inner workings of the Terminal, corrupted domains on the verge of system crash. Additionally it was something that I think, this is a part in reflection, influenced two character's relationship.

Metal Gear Solid was an influence of the tagline "Digital Pirate Action", I think there were other reasons I added it to the list though I can't recall them right now.

Finding Yeezus, a pop culturual investigate docu series about the creator of a viral ARG game, is on the list for being part of what got me thinking about the Matrix again so much.

The music list is mainly music I listened to while writing, in some cases certain lyrics felt very resonant to me.

Monsterhearts and Apocalypse World are there, and there together, because there's an optional move around physical intimacy and in developing that I read back over the sex moves in both games.

Dream Askew and Dream Apart is credited because of how the "Pick questions to ask left and right" technique became a big part of character creation.

Orbital Blues is there as it influenced some of the ship creation stuff.

Influence Comes from Lots of Places

So like I said a YouTube series is there because it was part of what got me thinking about the Matrix again. It wasn't the main thing though. That was because my therapist at the time used multiple Matrix metaphors with me in sessions. (I managed to resist replying to her first question of "Have you seen the Matrix?" with "Yeah, I'm trans" and I'll never get enough credit for that).

I like learning about the things that inspire people. I do a whole podcast about, so you'd hope that's the case. But I know that's not always as clear cut as influences from other works of art. That's a big thing, obviously, and it's a thing that can help with marketing in a way that talking therapy doesn't. But this life stuff is also pretty huge.

This is the title page for Terminal (subject to change, credits for the stretch goal writers need to be added in). I think the thanks are as important, honestly more important, in terms of saying what made the book what it is. In many ways Terminal is a break-up album. If it's a love letter to anything it's to my best friend before it's to the Matrix. It's about the way I've felt crazy, and against the people who wanted me to feel that way. One of the domains is a thinly veiled Canary Wharf because that's a place I really hate. Also auteur theory is bullshit and the book is also only what it is because of Gormengeist and Alyssa in combination with me.

When it comes out I hope people like it, and I sincerely believe this book is great and enjoying it doesn't rely on understanding any of the things I've spent two overly-long tumblr posts going on about.

“The connection we share is deeper than the sea, realer than blood and tougher than steel blades. It’s the connection you feel when you look at someone and know that you are the same, that they’re one of yours and you’re one of theirs.” - Ariadne

#indie ttrpg #game design #ttrpg #cyberpunk #the matrix #pirates #terminal

[ticklygiggles]

Tickletober Day 31: Aftercare

Ft. Diavolo x Reader

A/N: aftercaring after Diavolo ate some pickles *pout pout*

It's the last day of tickletober and although I'm still missing like four or five days, I'm thankful you guys seemed to like these bunch of drabbles! I think I've never written so much and consistently, lol thank you all!

You grinned, kissing his forehead, "there, there," you mumbled, gently patting and rubbing his back.

"Why did Barbatos do that?" He whined. "He even said you were the one who brought that nasty thing for me," he pouted, looking straight at you, making your heart jump in your chest.

This was new. This puppy-like expression you barely saw it in someone like Diavolo. He usually hid his emotions so painfully well, but right now, he was showing you this upset side of him. It was childish, (he would say later with flushed cheeks and wanting to bury his head in the ground like an ostrich), but your heart melted at his behavior.

"Of course I wouldn't bring you such a thing, my prince," you said softly, cupping his cheeks tenderly.

"I knew it as soon as I tasted those damn pickles!"

Oh goodness, you wanted to laugh. The reason you were suddenly summoned to Diavolo's office was because Barbatos decided to sneak some diced- minced pickles into Diavolo's food in an attempt to make the Demon Prince eat it without noticing, but it seemed not even that perfect butler could compete against Diavolo's palate.

You giggled softly, kissing his nose. "I'm sure Barbatos just wanted to show you that pickles aren't that bad, my love!"

Diavolo whined for the umpteenth time and he tightened his arms around your body, preventing you from escaping from his lap, not that you wanted to escape, not when you were witnessing this adorable side of him.

"Do you think it's funny?"

You quickly shook your head, pressing your grinning mouth against his pout. "Not at all! I just don't want you to be upset with Barbatos, I'm sure he didn't do it with an ill intention," you explained tenderly, carding your fingers through his hair. "You're okay now, right? Did the cake that I brought you made you feel better?"

Diavolo nodded, looking at the piece of chocolate cake you had brought for him because, as he had texted you, he just couldn't get rid of the taste.

"I guess I am better," he mumbled, nuzzling against your hand cupping his cheek again.

Your heart twisted inside your chest. How could he be this cute? How were you so lucky to see the oh, so well respected Lord Diavolo acting like a spoiled child? Pouting and whining like a kid throwing a tantrum.

"Ah, my poor Diavolo," you said, kissing his nose. "Please don't be upset, it breaks my heart!"

Your grin was blindly and contagious, you could see Diavolo having trouble trying to keep his lips in a pout and not break into a smile of his own.

"Is that a smile I see?"

He shook his head, "no smiling because I'm still sad."

"No~," you said, kissing one of his cheeks, then the other. His nose, his forehead, his chin, the corner of his eye.

You just started pampering kisses all over his face, finally making him smile and giggle softly.

"It tihihickles," he admitted, closing his eyes and ducking his head down a bit, his cheeks pink.

"Ah, does it? What about this?" Your fingers found his ribs and started to gently scribble against them.

Diavolo squealed, flinching away from your touch with a bright, sudden giggle. He tried to cover himself, letting go of your waist and almost making you fall off his lap; in a hurry, he wrapped his arms back around you, so you could keep tickling his ribs with ease.

"How's this? Are you feeling any better?"

Diavolo giggled, shaking his head, "tihihickling is not fahahair! Ah! N-Nohoho, not uhuhup thehehere!" He laughed, drawing his arms closer to his body when you moved up, dangerously close to his underarms.

"It is fair if it makes you smile like this," you said, your cheeks pink, seeing Diavolo giggle and laugh before he shyly hid his face against your neck, laughing against your skin as your fingers played with every of his ribs.

"Are you embarrassed?" You asked playfully and he nodded. "Do you still feel upset?" He shook his head, squeaking when your thumbs rubbed against his upper ribs. "Should I stop?"

"Yehehehes, plehehease!"

And so you did and Diavolo relaxed against you, letting out the softest of residual giggles. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head tenderly.

"Why doho you pahamper me so much?" He asked, making you giggle when his lips brushed against your neck.

"Hmm, well, that's because I love you, of course."

Diavolo raised his head and looked at you in the eyes. "I love you too," he whispered against your mouth, before pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Hey," you said, pulling apart softly. "Although you already had dessert, why don't we go dine outside tonight?"

Diavolo blinked, "what? In like... a date?"

You laughed at his surprised expression, your cheeks turning pink. "Yes! A date. Just you and me and some nice food, pickles free," you said, winking at him. "does that sound good?"

Diavolo rolled his eyes fondly, but he nodded and stood up with you in his arms. You giggled, clinging to him.

You really were the luckiest being alive in all three realms, after all, who else besides you could see and enjoy each of Diavolo's states and emotions? He would just let you see him acting like a kid, laughing and giggling openly, and getting excited about a date.

A lucky person you really are.

#tickletober2022 #tickletober #tickletober day 31 #obey me #obey me! #Diavolo #diavolo x reader #ticklish!Diavolo #mia's things

[theextendedzodiacas]

Would it be weird to ask how you pick images for your moodboards?

not at all! here is my process:

-color-coding: obviously, at least some images in the board must be the blood color of the sign caste

-lunar sway "mood": prospit signs are lighter/happier, derse signs are darker/angstier. very rarely derse/prospit color coding will creep in

-visual reference to the aspect of the sign: this is a little more abstract, but: sky/birds/lungs for breath, clockwork for time, frogs or space for . space . bones/graves for doom, empty space or fog for void, angels for hope, lightning/shattered glass/broken objects for rage, blood or blood-like imagery for blood (or images of holding hands, physical connection to other people), brains/webs/computers for mind, plants for life, hearts for heart, and "light" (sun, gold things, northern lights, reflections, celestial phenomena) as well as dice or books for light. sometimes color-coded woth the aspect color

-relevant additional themes: here i look for images with text relevant to the request, animals, fashion, pictures of couples for relationship boards (if necessary), any image which could give the "feel" of my understandings of each class or internal state meant to be reflected in the board, or images pertaining to a specific aesthetic vibe/theme like whimsigoth or what have you

-texture images: these support the color-coding, provide associative transitions from one image to the next, and generally serve to make the disparate elements of a given request cohere into an aesthetically unified whole.

then, of course, arrangement. once i have selected the images, i spend time laying them out in a way that is pleasing to the eye and draws the focus to other images in the board. this means flipping images so that their focus points "inward" or "outward," shifting them around so that images that are cut off in certain areas are on the edges or corners, and occasionally editing the images to, again, assert color-coding in cases where the additional themes leave little room to affirm a given unique sign. many requests are so heavy with additional themes that the only reference i can devote to the sign itself is color-coding, with maybe one or two visual nods to the aspect.

i prioritize photographs over drawings and graphics---if my board includes a pride flag, it's a photograph of a physical flag, meaning that i have to get creative for labels which do not have photos of physical flags. i also never include a graphic of the sign itself, to devote more space to the symbolism of the board i'm working on. i do not use anime screencaps or images from cartoons, though i do use movie stills.

i know for most people, moodboards are just "a vibe." some people don't seem to understand that while yes, i am working towards the depiction of an emotional vibe, i am doing so using a specific visual language in a limited amount of space, and straight up . . . it's extremely difficult to find usable photos of non-physical, temporally bounded things like ambivalence towards a relationship or nuanced inner feelings. ("unusable photos" being things like shutterstock images of "couples quarreling" or "woman thinking over salad".) if a requester wants an abstract state represented visually, it's helpful if they provide their own symbols for the theme they're trying to actualize . . . but if every single one of the nine images is dictated to me in the form of symbol-themes, it's like . . . where is the room for the actual sign in all this, and why are you coming to me if your vision is strong enough for you to just make your own board? (i do put a decent amount of time and effort into each board and rely on a large stockpile of saved photos, but . . . even just starting out, it did not take me long to make a decent board.)

i use pixlr to arrange and edit my moodboards and gather my images from tumblr, google images, unsplash, pexels, and when i was starting out i did use pinterest (but i don't have an account lol)

i hope this was understandable & enlightening!

-mod 8ean

[cookiewoli]

Okay this is a scream out post, idc who wants to read it or not but I need to unwind.

Every weekends, my fiance and I receive friends at home and play some boardgames all the day. We were playing a game (Dice throne) and I got a card "SchizoOni" and one of the guy here laughed and said

Guy : haha, so that Oni is sometimes kind, sometimes mean

Me : No.

Guy : But that's schizophrenia right ?

Me : No. That's not schizophrenia.

Guy : Okay so this is bipolar ?

Me : No either

Guy : So multiple personalities ?

Me : No. If you play nice but act mean you are just a fucking asshole. Mental illness has nothing to do with.

*Silence in the room*

There are two things that piss me off. First, why some game have cards with "schizo" wrote on it ? Why making cards with schizophrenic character on it ? And why most of them are evil or draw like a psychopath ? Go ahead, then let's make some character cards like "suicidal friend" "PTSD soldier " "bipolar girlfriend" "depressed mom". Obviously these type of cards would be unacceptable. But why it's not the same when it's about schizophrenia ? In aaaaall the different boardgame we have at home, I "banished " almost 10 cards with the term "schizo" wrote on it without any context because it's a fucking trigger warning.

Secondly, people are using the term schizophrenia as an insult and without knowing what it is !! All the clichés are "schizophrenic people are dangerous" "they have multiple personalities" "they're crazy" "they're killing people" and omg all of this are WRONG !

People are always confusing schizophrenia with DID. DID is the dissociative identify disorder. And that's NOT THE SAME THING as schizophrenia. In the DSM-V, DID is into the dissociative disorder family, and schizophrenia is into psychotic disorder. People that are saying "but that's the same thing." No, that's not. It's like saying asthma and lung cancer are the same thing.

Schizophrenia is one of the most misunderstood and terrifying illnesses and no one wants to understand what it's really is. There are under 1% of people diagnosed with schizophrenia. And inside this 1%, there are under 4% of people that are dangerous toward others. Most of people with schizophrenia are dangerous toward THEMSELVES. That's why the Sui**dal rates is very high. Media looooves to show schizophrenic people as dangerous murderer and it's so bullshit. That's one of the reason why people diagnosed with this illness are scared to tell it to others. When I was to a psychiatrist school, some people diagnosed with schizophrenia were lying to their friends "oh, I'm here because I have depression" because they're scared to tell the truth and be seen as monsters. Because that's how people see us.

So let's clarify together what schizophrenia is ! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

- it's NOT a multiple personalities disorder

- they are NOT dangerous toward others. Well, it can happens of course. But it's rare.

- It's NOT two opposing traits switching. Like "Kind - mean" (for example, doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde) or "Happy - sad"

- there are not a "face of schizophrenic person"

(I heard so much people saying to me 'ooooh, but you're so cute. You don't look schizophrenic.")

So. Schizophrenia is a psychotic mental illness. You can resume it by a loss of sense of reality.

It includes hallucinations, delusions and a lot of other things, but I will try to be as simple as possible.

Hallucinations can affects all the senses : touch, sight, hearing, smell and taste. The most knows are hearing voices, or see things that doesn't exist, HOWEVER, see whole people moving, talking to you is a big cliché into the movies. Actually, visual hallucinations can be less impressive. Yes, indeed, some people can have horrible hallucinations (I was concerned when I was 13), but some see things more.... Simple. I knew a girl who was seeing dragonfly and birds. But I knew another guy who was seeing aliens walking into the corridor.

Delusions are more difficult to explain. It's just thinking something that are not real, but it's more complex. You loose your sense of perception of reality. Your sense of reasoning. You loose the meaning of "reality" and that's something very difficult to understand to people when they're see someone close to them locked into their delusions. When you're thinking something stupid, unreal, like "people can read into my mind" your sense of reasoning come and tell you "lmaaaooo, it doesn't exist. People can't read into your mind. That's science-fiction"

Well, when you have schizophrenia, your sense of reasoning has gone for holidays and your like "omg. People can read into my thoughts. What should I do ?? Be careful of what I'm thinking?? Stop see people ?? Tell them to stop reading into my mind ? Stay in my room for months and see nobody until they'll stop ?"

It seems really stupid, but the worse part of delusions is that you're trapped into it and you don't know you're trapped.

Anyway. The same guy I talked about in the beginning said to my fiance "Are you sure she have schizophrenia ? She doesn't seems to. Maybe she's faking, or maybe she just have a lot of imagination. Or she wants attention."

And omg I wanted to fuck myself up so I leave.

YeS iT's jUsT mY iMaGinaTiOn but I get diagnosed of schizoaffective disorder by 4 different psychiatrist. I have to take 7 pills (1725 mg in the beginning . Now 975mg) everyday for the rest of my life, which worsened my hypotension so often I'm fainting randomly when I stand up. I have to see psychiatrist, psychologist, nurse and therapist for the rest of my life too (more of that I'm diagnosed of CPTSD) I can't fucking bear to see my full body recover of scars that have more of 10 year and will stay here forever. I dropped school at 15. Get to mental hospital at 16. 10 times in 2 years and in 4 different places. Then I get accepted to a special school for teenagers with mental illness. But thanks to it, I succeed to finish my studies with good grades.

"Faking my symptoms" ? Oh, yes, of course. Of course. I'm faking hearing voices telling me "hey, see these stairs ? Why don't you jump into it and k*LL yourself ? Nobody loves you" "hey, this person, here. He will try to rape you." "Worthless, useless, unloved, unwanted" I'm faking hitting my head against the wall to make those noises stop.

Yeah, I'm faking feeling bugs crawling into my skin. Yeah, I'm faking tearing up my flesh because I think that the bugs are hide under my skin. And cuz scratching my skin until bleeding will make them leaves. Of course. Of course.

So I CAN'T STAND being told I'm faking my schizoaffective disorder for attention. Even if I'm okay with it, to talk about it, CPTSD was diagnosed recently and hits hard. Mainly from September to January. It's hurt my whole life and sometimes my mental health just break. But my fiance is here with me and I'm so glad to have it.

Okay I'm done complaining ! I don't think people stayed until the end, but if it's the case, just thank you to read all my boring speech. I'm tired, so tired, angry, sad. My psychologist is on holiday, I see my psychiatrist one per month, and my fiance is working so I'm alone at home. I just needed to express my frustration. Because I have big difficulty to talk about my emotions verbally. Even to my fiance. So I'm writing to him on discord even when he's next to me, because my only way to talk about my suffering is by writing. So let's take some med and go to sleep. Hope tomorrow will be a better day.

Artist ↑ : avogado6

#f*ck mental health #mental health breakdown lmao #schizophrenia #schizoaffective #just want to complain #sorry #CPTSD hits hard these days so I need to talk